


Shameful Company

by Wild_Roses



Series: In Your Company [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Dementors, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Harry & George, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Light Angst, M/M, Not Epilogue Compliant, POV Harry Potter, Post-Hogwarts, Post-War, Redeemed Draco Malfoy, Redeemed Dudley Dursley, Slow Burn, Sort of an eighth year fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2020-08-06
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:05:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 67,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22123951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wild_Roses/pseuds/Wild_Roses
Summary: The autumn following the war finds Harry unhappy and living alone in London, having chosen not to return to Hogwarts with his friends. After a chance encounter involving Dementors, Harry and Draco Malfoy, it becomes clear dementors are an ongoing problem in muggle London and Harry is roped into Malfoy's most likely impossible efforts to destroy the creatures.This fic is 98% complete (with a sequel on the drawing board) and I will aim to publish updates about once a week!Rated teen due to language, brief warnings for anything that might be of further concern to readers will be posted in notes at the beginning of relevant chapters.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Series: In Your Company [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1868077
Comments: 255
Kudos: 219





	1. Prologue

Harry spent a long moment looking at the dot on the map. He’d tracked it with a nearly manic commitment throughout the year. Steeling himself, he nudged the door with his wand and it slid open just enough for him to slip through. He paused, listening intently. Only the steady, soft breaths of the room’s sleeping resident reached him.

The hospital wing, Harry always thought, looked like a chapel. Light from a torch next to the door flickered around the arched roof and warmed the peaked windowpanes. Beyond the first few feet, the room was dark and Harry, in his sock feet, walked slowly to allow his eyes to adjust. The two long rows of beds against the walls lay empty, each done up with tight corners.

In the last bed, closest to the door for Madam Pomfrey’s chambers, lay Draco Malfoy. He was a ghost in the dark room, his pale features and hair nearly glowing. A sharp, red line cut fully across his face. Harry winced to see it. Malfoy wore a deep green bathrobe, bandages visible on his chest, where the robe had slipped.

The twisting discomfort that had been writhing in Harry’s gut all evening evolved into a rush of hot shame that washed from his head to his feet and back up again. He stood still, trying to remember the tangle of thoughts that had led him to the hospital wing in the middle of the night.

Malfoy’s eyes snapped open. His jaw was tense. Maybe, Harry thought, he was in pain and even here, alone in the middle of the night, Malfoy seemed to be striving to maintain appearances.

“I know you’ve an invisibility cloak, Potter,” Malfoy said flatly.

Harry, who had been holding his breath, remained frozen. How had Malfoy possibly realized he was there? Unlike the incident on the train (which still made anger flare within Harry and very nearly cut through the guilt, making him feel like perhaps Malfoy had only gotten his just desserts today), Harry was quite sure he was properly covered and silent beneath the cloak.

Malfoy shifted to sit up with a small grunt. “I thought Gryffindors were meant to be brave.”

Harry curled his hand around the front of his cloak and tugged. It spilled compliantly off him and settled at his feet. He stared at the boy for a while before greeting quietly, “Malfoy.”

With a look of disdain, Malfoy reached for his wand and Harry tensed. He didn’t raise his own wand in return. Surely, he _did_ deserve whatever it was Malfoy was going to do. Malfoy may have nearly hit him with a _crucio_ (and broken his nose in September)_, _but Harry had nearly _killed_ Malfoy.

Rolling his eyes, Malfoy cast a silencing charm. “Relax, Potter. I’ve barely enough energy or magic in me to take my revenge, even if I wanted to.”

“Oh.” Harry wished he had put on proper clothing before sneaking down here. He hadn’t expected that anyone would end up seeing him in his pajamas- a gift from Hermione with an enchanted pattern of chocolate frogs that hopped around the blue fabric.

“What do you want, Potter?”

“I- I’m not sure,” Harry stuttered.

“Since you _are_ here, perhaps you could be so kind as to pour me a glass of water?” Malfoy asked, his tone heavily sardonic.

Harry automatically moved to the counter beside Malfoy and poured a full glass from the pitcher that rested there. He passed the glass to Malfoy, refilling and returning it after Malfoy had drained it.

“Healing always makes me parched,” Harry offered.

Malfoy rolled his eyes again.

“Why-” Harry began, then bit his tongue and looked away.

“Out with it,” Malfoy commanded.

“What do you have to do, Malfoy? And why- why _you_?” Now, he sought Malfoy’s eyes out.

With a huff Malfoy, avoiding his gaze, replied, “I’m fairly certain you’ve figured that out by now Auror Potter.”

Choosing to ignore that he was also pretty sure he’d figured it out, Harry remarked, “Must be bad if you’re crying to Moaning Myrtle. She’s truly sadistic.”

“Well,” Malfoy replied bitterly, “I needed somewhere nearby and private as I was overcome quite suddenly. Better a perverted ghost than the hoard of people that was in the entry hall.”

Harry’s lips curved ruefully. “She is a pervert. She saw me naked, fourth year.”

For a moment, it looked as though Malfoy was going to ask for the rest of the story. Instead he repeated, “What do you want?”

Harry nibbled on his bottom lip and rocked on his feet. He was quite certain that Malfoy would never display such overt signs of anxiety. There was a certain tightness to Malfoy, though, from his eyes to the way he held his hands that made Harry suspect he was nervous too.

“If you’re in danger, Malfoy, maybe… I could get you some help. You don’t _have_ to do it.”

With a dark chuckle, Malfoy watched Harry stumble over his offer of aid. “Potter,” he said directly, “if your family was still alive, wouldn’t you do anything to keep them safe?”

For the first time in this surreal interaction, Malfoy and Harry met one another’s eyes for longer than a second. And Harry understood. This wasn’t about Malfoy. He didn’t want to save himself. It was about a tangled web that his parents had been wrapped up in since before he was even born.

“I would.”

One of Malfoy’s brows twitched up, clearly carrying the message ‘_you see?’._

“Maybe we could help you all?” Harry offered, knowing as he did that it wasn’t an actual option.

Malfoy’s eyes softened a little as he shook his head.

The tension between them felt as if thousands of taut threads connected each of Harry’s cells to each of Malfoy’s. A certain understanding had been established between them and they both remained unmoving, looking intently at one another.

“Well, er-” Harry began, “I’m… sorry.”

Malfoy rolled his lips inwards and nodded in a way that said that he was too, though hell would be frozen before he’d say the words out loud.

“Alright then,” Harry said tightly. Backing away from Malfoy’s bedside, he bent awkwardly to pick up his cloak, maintaining eye contact with the other boy. He walked backwards until he reached the door of the hospital wing, still ajar. He nodded at Malfoy and then ducked out of the room. Shutting the door softly behind him, he pulled his cloak back on and leaned against it.

His stomach was still twisting, though now with different emotions thrown into its tumult. He supposed that Malfoy thought he had kept his eyes on him while he left to ensure that he wouldn’t be cursed. In actuality, Harry just hadn’t been able to pull his eyes away from his enemy, who, for the first time, he understood.

\---

Harry saw Malfoy only a handful of times after the hospital wing. Each time, he would try to catch Malfoy’s eye and Malfoy would studiously ignore him while Pansy Parkinson glared daggers his way. The scar on Malfoy’s face had healed entirely, without a mark. Harry wondered if his chest had healed as successfully. He doubted it, the lacerations there had been much deeper.

It wasn’t until Dumbledore had him petrified and under his invisibility cloak on top of the astronomy tower that Harry was in any proximity to Malfoy. Malfoy noticed the second broom, asked Dumbledore about it, but was easily distracted by Dumbledore directing the conversation. Harry wondered if Malfoy was aware of his presence and chose to ignore it.

Despite the sharp words he spat out at Dumbledore, the prideful tone he used as he described having broken through Hogwarts defences, Malfoy seemed petrified himself. He didn’t make a move against Dumbledore and there was an edge of panic to his voice.

Eventually, Malfoy paled and his desperation became starkly visible. “I haven’t got any options!” He hissed. “I’ve got to do it! He’ll kill me! He’ll kill my whole family!”

That was the turning point, Harry knew. He was quite certain that Draco was about to lower his wand when Malfoy’s compatriots rushed onto the tower. And then Malfoy had no chance. Dumbledore had no chance.

\---

The next time he saw Draco Malfoy it was through swollen eyes. They were both, it seemed, terrified to look directly at one another. Draco’s parents and the lecherous Greyback demanded Draco identify Harry. When he caught a glance of himself in an ornate mirror, Harry made note to praise Hermione’s quick thinking if they made it out of this. He looked hardly anything like himself, it might even be possible that Malfoy _didn’t_ recognize him.

But there was no way that Malfoy didn’t know Hermione and Ron on either side of him. After six years of joint classes and rivalry, Harry was certain he would recognize Draco decades from now. The weight that his friends had lost over the last months and the layer of dirt they’d collected was not enough to make for a disguise.

When attention in the room turned to his friends, Harry tensed. Surely the younger Malfoy had already noticed them, but apparently, he hadn’t felt the need to point them out. Harry’s heart clenched as Draco hesitated to confirm their identities, sounding doubtful.

Of course, everything went to shit anyways. Though, when Harry thought back on the experience, he supposed that Draco had managed to delay for long enough that Voldemort was not summoned immediately. And as fucking horrific as it had been, Bellatrix’s reaction to seeing the sword of Gryffindor was the first good lead they’d had on another Horcrux.

When Harry and Ron escaped from the Manor’s cellar and charged into the drawing room Harry immediately noted Draco in his peripheral vision, pressed up against the wall. Harry’s brief moment of triumph from disarming Bellatrix was quickly replaced with tense fear as she pressed a knife to Hermione’s throat. He and Ron dropped the wands they held, lifting their hands in surrender. Voldemort was coming. This was it. The end.

Draco followed his aunts orders to retrieve the wands and Harry slid his eyes towards the other boy for a moment. He’d returned to his aunt’s side with the wands, but hadn’t yet passed her wand back to her as she grasped Hermione, eyes flashing psychotically. There was something about the angle Malfoy stood at that felt off to Harry. His eyes flicked upwards for a moment before tightening slightly. The chandelier came crashing down. Everyone flinched away as shards of crystal exploded through the room.

Malfoy’s hands flew up to his face, the wands still clutched in his left hand, as he bent his chest down to his knees. Blood was leaking between his fingers. In a moment of insanity, Harry hoped Malfoy’s eyes hadn’t been damaged. Then he lunged across an armchair and yanked the wands out of Malfoy’s hand. Harry was pleased to see Narcissa Malfoy pulling her son out of the carnage before he managed to make his own escape. After that, any thought of Draco Malfoy was pushed far to the edges of his mind.

\---

The wand worked better for him than Harry had thought it would. He had assumed it would feel a little… dark, he supposed. But it felt _right_. Harry was reminded of the way in which he and Malfoy had understood one another in the hospital wing that night.

Of course, the first thing Malfoy said to him the next time they met- in the version of the Room of Requirement that was full of hidden things- was in a frigid tone, “That’s my wand you’re holding, Potter.”

Harry, seeing him behind Goyle and Crabbe found it curious that Malfoy seemed to be hanging back. Crabbe and Goyle spoke just as often, if not more, than Malfoy. Harry filed this away, in case it came in useful later, and focused on subtly moving towards the diadem.

Ron called for Harry, sounding concerned and Crabbe and Goyle quickly bared their viciousness.

Attempting to regain control of his henchmen, Malfoy ordered them to stop as curses flew, reminding them Voldemort wanted Harry alive. It was with clear desperation that Malfoy screamed “Don’t kill him! DON’T KILL HIM!” when they both pointed their wands at Harry.

With a rush of heat cursed fire came roaring towards them. Harry turned his focus to getting Hermione and Ron to safety. Finding brooms, old and bulky though they were, was a blessing. Then his thoughts turned to Draco. There might well not be a more terrible way to die than trapped in this room as towering piles of contraband objects collapsed around you and the air turned black, fire rapidly overcoming it all. Ron begged for him to flee, but Harry just couldn’t.

He was certain that the scream that reached them was Malfoy, and veered his broom towards it. Malfoy’s eyes lit with hope as he saw Harry approach and he reached up for him. Their hands slipped apart and for a moment it seemed Malfoy would lose his balance and fall into the flames below. Harry’s stomach dropped and he turned a tight circle to approach Malfoy again, pausing to allow him to scramble up onto the broom. Hermione and Ron had successfully pulled Goyle up on their broom, which dipped and lagged with his weight. Malfoy grasped Harry’s shoulders, nails digging in, and screamed for Harry to get to the door, then screamed some more when Harry turned back for the diadem. A rush of fresh air cleared Harry’s mind as they reached the door, skidding across the hall and slamming into the wall opposite. Malfoy tumbled off the broom, palms slapping the floor. He took a while to choke up some blackened mucous before asking after Crabbe. Crabbe had never had a chance after unleashing the fiendfyre.

It must have not been more than fifteen minutes later- minutes full of more devastation and loss than Harry could have imagined such a short period of time could carry- that they ran into Malfoy again. He was frantically trying to convince a masked Death Eater of his identity. Harry didn’t even think before stunning the Death Eater.

Ron snarled and snapped his fist out underneath the invisibility cloak, hitting Malfoy square in the jaw. “And that’s the second time we’ve saved your life tonight, you two-faced bastard!”

Harry didn’t really have time to think about it, but it occurred to him that if Malfoy was really two-faced, the second face might be the one that refrained from identifying them at Malfoy Manor. The one that stopped Crabbe and Goyle from hitting him with a killing curse in the Room of Requirement.

It did not surprise him when, as he lay sprawled on the roots that carpeted the Forbidden Forest, Narcissa Malfoy asked if Draco was alive. And then lied for him.

And Harry had never felt more triumphant than when he explained to Voldemort that Draco Malfoy had been the true master of the Elder Wand. Until Harry had grabbed Draco’s own wand right out of his hand, that is. And then, with Draco’s wand, Harry cast an _expelliarmus_ and Voldemort died a permanent death.

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> World, characters and any familiar plot belongs to J.K.Rowling! This chapter will be the only one which reflects plot from the actual series (HBP and DH), all chapters moving forward are original plot.
> 
> The title of this work is the title of a Rainbow Kitten Surprise (which I think is sort of a terrible band name, but which provided great writing music) from the album Seven + Mary
> 
> My work is not beta-ed and my apologies for any mistakes/errors you might catch!


	2. Part 1; Chapter 2-The Trials

Part 1

Was I born a stone, heavy to hold  
And cold in the hands that you left me to warm in the sun  
Was I born alone, or have I recently  
Developed a propensity to push people away?  
Am I okay with that?

-Shameful Company, Rainbow Kitten Surprise

The defence lawyer was doing an effective job of making Draco Malfoy look like both a terrible human being and a vital war hero. Harry rather agreed with both those perceptions of Malfoy, and so was fairly impressed with Casper Almeda.

Draco looked less impressed. But he also looked wan and exhausted and small where he sat in the dim basin of the Wizengamot courtroom. Those members of the Wizengamot who had survived the war sat in the raised tiers of the pavilion directly in front of Malfoy. Witnesses sat on the pavilion to his left, and interested citizens to the right.

There had been discussion about delaying the trials. Waiting until the new government was more established. In the end, there was too much fear that the guilty would escape in the meantime. Several notorious Death Eaters had already absconded to small wizarding communities around the world which did not have extradition treaties with the British Ministry for Magic. The Malfoys had stayed at Hogwarts after Voldemort’s death, when many of their compatriots had fled. Harry remembered seeing them huddled anxiously together, isolated, in the Great Hall that day.

Lucius Malfoy’s trial had occurred a few weeks ago, just before Harry’s birthday. He was sentenced to the kiss. They had been quick about it, allowing him the small mercy of one last evening with his wife and son- closely monitored, of course, no Barty Crouch swap-outs for the Malfoys- before locking him in with the dementors at midnight. It made Harry’s blood run cold. Lucius, as far as the Wizengamot was concerned, had already had too many chances. He had gotten away virtually scot free after the first war. And after unleashing the possessing spirit of Tom Riddle and Slytherin’s monster on Hogwarts. He’d previously been sentenced to life in Azkaban for breaking into the Department of Mysteries and attempted murder, and had managed to escape _that_ to continue to serve at Voldemort’s side.

Hermione was livid. The dementors had no real conscience, and as such could be bent to the will of the highest bidder. Which was, very recently, Voldemort. More so, Hermione viewed the kiss as worse than the death penalty, which had been abolished in muggle Great Britain in 1965. It was, she argued to Harry’s agreement, unacceptable to sentence anyone to the kiss when there was a very recent history of wrongful convictions by the Wizengamot.

“Honestly,” she had muttered darkly to Harry after a shouting match with Kingsley, “Muggles are so much more civilized in so many ways. You’d never see a teenager forced into a potentially deadly tournament at a secondary school.”

Kingsley had been remarkably patient with Hermione, Harry was pleased to see. Not only was she brilliant, but she was a true war hero in her own right and Harry had been a little worried that he and his friends would find themselves treated as ignorant children now that they were no longer needed in war efforts. Harry suspected that Kingsley only shouted back at Hermione- let alone allowed her to yell at him- because he respected her.

Regardless, Kingsley insisted that the dementors be put to their full use for the time being. It was, he said, the most effective way to deal with two major risks to the safety of Wizarding Britain: The Death Eaters and the dementors. He would, he promised, come up with a plan for securely relocating the dementors as soon as he was able, but in the meantime it was the best way to ensure that they did not start hunting people at will, and that the Death Eaters didn’t continue to engender chaos and violence. It was simply too big a task with too little manpower to create an alternative prison system that was secure and free of corruption immediately following the war. Too many trusted people had died, and there was too much doubt about who _could _be trusted.

Hermione had finally caved, but assured Kingsley that she would be keeping a close eye on him and his administration. With a long-suffering look, Kingsley had reminded Hermione that he was only the acting Minister for Magic and would be facilitating a proper election as soon as possible.

Now, Hermione sat at Harry’s side, an intense look on her face as she watched Casper Almeda pace the courtroom. Harry wasn’t sure he felt as strongly about the dementors remaining at Azkaban as Hermione did. But he certainly didn’t want to see Draco Malfoy getting the kiss.

“Mr. Malfoy, is it true that you expressed strong doubts as to whether the three people presented to you by the Werewolf Fenrir Greyback and his bounty hunter companions in the drawing room of Malfoy Manor during your spring break were your classmates Harry Potter, Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley?”

“Yes.”

Harry heard Ron scoff at the attributive ‘strong’. Hermione pinched Ron’s leg. It had really been more of a dance of vague “_maybes_” as Harry recalled it, but he certainly could not blame Malfoy for wanting to appear hesitant rather than clearly denying the obvious truth that was Voldemort’s three most wanted fugitives kneeling at his feet. He still saved all their arses, Harry firmly believed.

Casper Almeda began firing off a series of questions, pausing only long enough for Malfoy to reply “yes” to each. “And is it not true that you spent six years in joint classes with Harry Potter, Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley? Competed regularly against Harry Potter as you both played in the position of seeker in your respective house quidditch teams at Hogwarts? Regularly antagonized and bullied Harry Potter and Ron Weasley? And even more so Hermione Granger, given her status as a muggleborn witch?”

Perhaps Malfoy had been told to appear abashed as he answered yes to each question, but his face remained blank. There was, Harry noticed, a slight flush to his cheeks when he endorsed bullying Hermione for being muggleborn. A rumble of discontentment could be heard from the section of the room housing the general citizens. 

“I imagine most people would not hesitate to recognize anyone they had encountered so frequently.” Almeda noted. “Did you or did you not recognize Harry Potter, Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley in your drawing room on the day in question Mr. Malfoy?”

“I did.”

Gasps echoed throughout the courtroom and Harry had to refrain from rolling his eyes. People always ate up the crazy shit that he’d dealt with in his life. But this was his life. And Draco’s life. And Harry could only imagine how it felt to sit in this room- without chains holding him to the chair only because Harry had put in a word- and face the reality that you might meet the same terrible fate your father had suffered just weeks earlier. The whole thing felt rather dirty.

“Mr. Malfoy can you please identify if Harry Potter, Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley are present here today?” Almeda asked.

An elderly Wizengamot witch raised her brows aristocratically, “Mr. Almeda, any wizard who has seen the Prophet in the last four years since the Triwizard Tournament would easily recognize Harry Potter. Any who has glanced at the front page over the last year would know Ms. Granger and Mr. Weasley.”

Almeda turned to Kingsley for further guidance. When Kingsley shrugged with a look of vague amusement, Almeda turned back to Malfoy and said, “Go ahead, Mr. Malfoy.”

Malfoy pointed to them, “Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, Ronald Weasley.”

First Hermione, then Ron (who only did it because Harry and Hermione had been insistent), then Harry were called to testify. Harry pulled out his best inspirational act, booming with confidence to assure the members of the Wizengamot that Draco deserved to be fully acquitted of any crimes he had partaken in due to the unfortunate circumstances that severely limited his freedom of choice. This angle, he knew, was aided along by comments that Lucius had made in his own trial about the ways in which Voldemort and Lucius himself had coerced Draco into becoming a Death Eater. Draco had not been allowed to be in the room at Lucius’s trial, which Harry suspected was for the best. It seemed rather likely that Lucius, feeling he had no chance to begin with, had somewhat amplified the “coercion”. And Almeda was genius in the courtroom, using every inconsistency or thread of pity to his advantage.

Malfoy was acquitted of all crimes and wrongdoing. The Wizengamot cited his age at the time of recruitment to the Death Eaters and his actions that day in the Malfoy drawing room as the reasons he was getting so lucky. It was made very clear that he still had a strike against him and any further misdeeds would be punished harshly.

\---

The trial for Narcissa Malfoy was a few days later. Harry testified at it as well, putting on even more of a show regarding how vital her actions were to saving his life, and all of Wizarding Britain, than he had for Draco. Her son sat in the front row of the citizen’s section of the courtroom, with an Auror next to him for his own protection. Harry didn’t miss the way people were hissing at Draco throughout the proceedings.

Narcissa was sentenced to thirty months of house arrest and confiscation of her wand for the duration of it. Given that Malfoy Manor is gigantic, Harry figured that this wouldn’t be so bad. But Narcissa has struggled to hold back tears and Hermione shook her head sadly, “Poor woman. She won’t be able to move away from all the memories.”

As aurors took Mrs. Malfoy away to be brought back to Malfoy Manor and fitted with the charmed bracelet that would keep her from leaving the grounds, Harry hovered outside the courtroom. He sent Hermione and Ron on ahead and nodded politely to each person that filtered out. The last out was Draco.

“Hello Malfoy,” Harry greeted, lips twisted in an awkward not-quite-smile.

“Potter,” Malfoy replied tiredly.

“Come here,” Harry jerked his head towards an empty conference room across the hall.

The auror accompanying Malfoy asked, “All good from here?”

Malfoy nodded and walked into the conference room. Pulling out his wand, Harry lit the torches along the walls. He then tucked his wand back away and pulled out Malfoy’s wand. “You’re using another, I assume?” Harry asked.

“My mother’s, since they acquitted me.” Prior to the trial, Malfoy had been held without a wand. Those that had not been sentenced were monitored by aurors in a Ministry building, rather than placed in Azkaban with the dementors, at least. Harry figured Malfoy would have looked at least twice as bad as he did if that were the case.

“Great. Disarm me.”

Malfoy’s eyes blew wide, panicked. “What?” he yelped. He certainly didn’t have the self-control he used to possess.

“Relax, Malfoy,” Harry chided. “This isn’t some juvenile ploy to get you in trouble. Like the time you challenged me to a duel and no-showed but called Filch on me? Have you already forgotten that I testified on _your behalf _on Monday? The allegiance of your wand switched to me when I grabbed it out of your hand before we escaped that day. I’m trying to give it back. But I can’t just hand it to you. That won’t do shit.”

“Oh,” Malfoy said quietly.

A small, niggling part of Harry had been a bit worried about this plan. It seemed likely that the elder wand would switch back to Malfoy as well. And, Harry realized, as much as he (fervently) hoped he would die a natural death, there was certainly a risk he wouldn’t and then the Elder Wand could be retrieved from Dumbledore’s tomb by a new master.

So in the dead of the night a few weeks previous, McGonagall had accompanied Harry to Dumbledore’s tomb and with only the smallest twitch of her jaw revealing the effort, levitated the heavy marble slab to allow Harry to retrieve the wand. He had gulped back his discomfort and summoned the wand, averse to catching sight of Dumbledore’s state. The wand had flown compliantly into his hand. He’d stared down at it, met McGonagall’s eyes for reassurance and then snapped the wand. It broke cleanly in two, with a few ebony thestral hairs sticking out of either side, far more easily than Harry had thought it would. Perhaps it too felt as though it was time for retirement. For good measure, Harry vanished the pieces, something he was quite sure would have been impossible when the wand was whole.

McGonagall had brought Harry back to the school and plied him with hot chocolate and biscuits, muttering that she didn’t want to hear about it from Molly Weasley if she sent Harry back looking as unsettled as he did. 

So, with quite a lot more peace of mind that he’d had in years, Harry felt confident in urging Malfoy to disarm him.

Lifting his mother’s wand, Malfoy cast an _expelliarmus_. The hawthorn wand resisted a little before flying across the room for Malfoy to catch. Quickly, he tucked away his mother’s wand and cast “_Lumos Maximus_!” A bright flare of light nearly blinded them, before their eyes adjusted and Harry could see Malfoy’s brilliant grin. He ran his fingers along the handle with care.

Looking back to Harry, Malfoy recovered a touch of his school-aged self and said snidely, “Don’t think I’m going to slobber my gratitude all over you, Potter.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“But… thank you for testifying for my mother.”

Harry assumed that there was an “and me” that Malfoy might’ve tagged on if he weren’t too proud. And the comment about slobbery gratitude was a Malfoy version of a thank you for returning the wand.

The discomfort of the interaction finally became too much for Harry, who turned to the door with an awkward nod. “See you, Malfoy.”

It was actually rather unlikely that they would see one another, Harry hoped. Malfoy, given his academic talents, would probably return to Hogwarts now that he was free to do so. Harry had disappointed Hermione, Ron and Ginny greatly by refusing to even consider it. Kingsley had offered for Harry to join the Auror training program, NEWT requirements waived. It was an honour, Harry knew, but he declined that option as well. He just needed time. Without a constant threat looming over him Harry was not entirely sure _who_ he was. And he felt so weighed down by grief and guilt that the thought of dragging himself through any sort of education was just too much to handle.

\---


	3. A Disruption to the Dullness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you would rather avoid it, there is a brief mention of suicide/suicide rates and drug use in this chapter, if you just skip the couple of larger paragraphs after the television is turned on you can skip it.

The day was a particularly depressing one. Halfway through October, drizzly and dim. Harry pulled the zip of his jacket right up to his chin and squirmed his neck to get the collar up a little over his reddened ears. Despite the cold he was aimlessly walking around the city. He hadn’t much else to do with his time and it was seemingly one of the only means to push back the overwhelming dullness. The dullness, along with a vague sense of restlessness, had taken over Harry’s life, with the exception being intermittent episodes of sharp, incredible grief.

London, Harry decided, was awful and he didn’t know how people lived here. It rained quite a lot more than it ever had at Hogwarts or Little Whinging. The only time he ever really felt content was in the first moments after walking into his flat each day. He’d strung up warm, cheerful lights and scattered around enough candles that he suspected the muggle landlord would disapprove. An afghan knitted by Mrs. Weasley covered his armchair, which was crowded in next to a small couch across from a television set. Photographs of his friends covered the walls. Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and Luna had all insisted on coming over and helping him to decorate before they headed back to school.

Harry knew he had no one to blame for the drudgery of his days but himself. He’d spent the larger part of the summer repairing Hogwarts, returning to the Burrow each evening for a hearty meal and a deep sleep. Repairing the castle that had been, despite the many dramatic and dangerous occurrences over the years, his solace and safe place had been therapeutic for Harry. But the thought of returning to classes and homework and the Gryffindor dormitory to work towards goals he had held before all the carnage of the war made him itchy.

So instead, Harry spent the end of August and the beginning of September getting Weasley Wizard Wheezes back up and running with George, who’d been fiercely determined to reopen for the pre-school rush. The shop had been wrecked in a U-No-Poo related raid last November. It had been just as satisfying to repair as had Hogwarts, though slightly more dangerous, as you could never be sure what you might uncover amongst the rubble. One afternoon Harry had managed to first set off a blast of Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder and then trip over a set of fireworks which left the both of them with scattered blisters and feeling as though they’d had a bad hallucinogenic trip.

Now though, George only needed Harry a few mornings a week. Harry spent most of his time going for meandering strolls and watching telly in his flat. Molly had campaigned vehemently against the very idea of Harry living anywhere other than the Burrow, but Harry had stood his ground and she’d eventually shifted her efforts to ensuring he had everything he would possibly need to stock his home with. Which was why Harry was the owner of three hot water bottles, a proofing basket (in case he wished to bake himself a loaf of bread) and _Cookie Curios’ Guide To Home Keeping_.

The flat was the first place Harry had ever really had for himself and he was proud of it.

He was just ready to turn the corner and head back to its warmth when he registered that something was wrong. The dullness, which Harry generally felt to be a moderate weight dragging him down, had become fully oppressive. The cold he’d been shrugging off seeped into his bones. His heart beat skittered. A scream pierced the air and he turned rapidly for the source.

“NO!” It was McGonagall.

“Harry! HARRY!” That was Hermione, Ginny. Ron, too.

A small part of Harry realized what was happening. He gritted his teeth and fought to remain conscious, fumbling for his wand. What had Luna said to him that awful day? “We’re all still here. We’re still fighting.”

The fighting was supposed to be over.

As if he had summoned Luna through thought, the silvery light of a patronus flew past Harry towards the dementors that his eyes struggled to identify. But that wasn’t Luna’s hare. It wasn’t even corporeal.

“Come on, Harry,” A voice that was somewhere between strange and familiar said. “I know you can do these, so get it together and _cast_.”

The voice sounded strained. And a little frightened. They weren’t sure their patronus would hold up, Harry understood. There were three dementors he could now recognize, and they continued to approach despite the silver light that was hovering between the creatures and Harry and his unknown companion.

Harry, who’d collapsed to his knees on the wet pavement, pushed himself to stand. He gripped his wand and tilted his chin up. He remembered his warm apartment full of photos of people who loved him, the motherly hug of Molly Weasley, the joy he felt for Ron and Hermione when they _finally _kissed in the midst of chaos, the way he could get baby Teddy to giggle if he pulled a strange enough face.

His stag burst forth, driving off the dementors just as his companion’s silver wisp faded. Harry managed to stay on his feet until the dementors were well and truly gone. Then he hit the pavement.

“Fuck,” the stranger’s voice said. “Fuck. Potter! Get up!”

Harry managed to force his eyes open again, “’M ok,” he mumbled before recognizing the panicked grey eyes that regarded him. “Shit. Malfoy?”

“Potter!” Malfoy grabbed his arms and yanked him up to a seated position. He remained crouched beside Harry as he searched his pockets for something. “Are you alright Potter?”

“Yeah,” Harry answered, straightening his glasses and feeling distinctly displeased that somehow Malfoy had encountered him in such a situation. Why was Malfoy even in muggle London anyways?

“Fuck,” Malfoy said again. “I swore I had some chocolate somewhere.”

Heaving a sigh, Harry stood creakily. “Doesn’t matter. I’ve got some chocolate at my flat. It’s just around the corner.”

“Alright.” Malfoy stood as well, watching Harry in an anticipatory manner.

“What are you doing, Malfoy?”

“Accompanying you to your flat to ensure that you make it with your soul intact.”

“I’m fine without the honour guard, thanks.” Harry began to walk away. Malfoy followed.

Choosing to ignore this, Harry continued walking for a few moments. Then, as his past experiences began screaming for attention, he stopped and whirled around. “Malfoy- why do you think I got a flat in muggle London?”

“For anonymity, I’d assume,” Malfoy replied smoothly.

“Exactly,” Harry clapped his hands together. “So why would I possibly give up my address to you of all people?”

“Frankly, Potter,” Malfoy said with an air of condescension, “because you still look as though you may keel over. If it makes you feel better,” he added, holding up two crossed fingers, “Enchanted Explorers honour that I won’t sell out your location to the Death Eaters or gossip rags.”

Harry scowled. But he didn’t mistrust Malfoy. Probably a mistake. Likely he was just too exhausted and wigged out from the dementors for his cerebral cortex to function as it should. He shrugged and let Malfoy follow him the rest of the way to his flat.

Harry struggled embarrassingly to make it up the steps to the fourth floor walk-up and ignored that Malfoy was hovering just behind as if ready to catch him. Leaving the front door open behind him, he headed to the kitchen which shared the 400 or so square feet that was visible with his sitting room. Harry was glad he’d left all the fairy lights hung around the crown molding turned on, their glow warmed the room. He set the kettle to boil and grabbed a bar of chocolate from the fridge. Harry shoved a large chunk of the chocolate- Remus’s favourite, sixty percent dark made in house at Honeyduke’s- into his mouth before turning to offer some to Malfoy.

The other man was surveying Harry’s apartment with wide eyes.

“Head’s up,” Harry warned, tossing the chocolate Malfoy’s way. Malfoy caught it easily and absently bit off a piece, staring at Harry’s telly.

“What is the purpose of that big blocky, black thing?”

“It’s a television,” Harry said. Now that he’d had chocolate his emotional range was somewhat expanded, and he found this whole situation rather amusing. Still embarrassing, but amusing, nonetheless.

Malfoy arched a defined brow, “Television?”

“Yeah, you know. Video. Moving pictures with sound?”

“Like portraits?”

“Well, sort of. But we have more control over what we see and when. And it shows the news, or stories, sometimes.”

The kettle began to whistle and Harry asked Malfoy how he liked his tea. Because Hagrid and Molly Weasley had raised him better than to be ungracious. Malfoy looked a little surprised to be asked, but replied, “Just a little bit of milk, please.”

Levitating the teacups into the living room to hover next to his unexpected house guest Harry asked, “Would you like to see it?”

“What?” Malfoy startled.

“The telly. Grab a seat on the couch, I’ll show you how it works.”

Harry picked up the clicker and pointed it to the telly, tapping on the power button. Nothing happened. “Damn,” he muttered, “Grab your tea, I need to end the hovering charm before it will work. Electronics and magic don’t tangle well.”

Draco, with a look of bafflement, reached out for his tea and sank onto the couch behind him, immediately turning his attention back to the telly. It sparked to life agreeably, displaying a news woman with a face of gaudy makeup.

“Good Lord,” Malfoy exclaimed, “She looks a little like Rita Skeeter, doesn’t she?”

Harry couldn’t help but nod as he curled up in his armchair, cradling his teacup, “That banshee.”

The woman passed the broadcast over to a man who was standing in the rain looking morose. “Suicide rates have risen dramatically this month. Abigail Arnault, the Minister for Health reports that her department is looking into the trend and all government services are receiving additional training on suicide awareness and intervention. Arnault and those of us at the BBC would like to remind our viewers that there are several services that you can reach out to for support if you or a loved one are struggling with thoughts of suicide, or have experienced loss related to suicide.” The reporter began to read out several services as his image was replaced with a list of phone numbers.

Appearing back on the screen, the man said, “An additional concern in our city at the moment is the presence of a new illicit drug that appears to result in a catatonic state for some users. Officials are investigating, and citizens who partake in drug use are recommended to ensure they know what they are taking and avoid experimentation with new substances.”

“Potter…” Draco turned frowning to Harry. “Was today the first time you’d run into dementors?”

It was not, in fact. Harry had had an encounter with dementors late one evening about two weeks ago as well. He’d been more prepared at the time, and had easily taken out the two that had approached him. After rushing home, Harry had apparated right to the Ministry and reported it to Kingsley. Kingsley hadn’t looked particularly concerned and told Harry that the Department of Magical Law Enforcement was working with the Department for Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures to relocate those dementors that had made their way into England and Scotland during the war.

“A couple of weeks ago,” Harry said numbly. “There were two in St. James Park.” Given that the park was often full of muggle tourists, Harry had been particularly concerned about it at the time, though after speaking with Kingsley he’d put it right out of his mind.

“Hm.” Draco sipped the last of his tea and looked for a place to set the cup. “Potter!” He exclaimed, offended, “You don’t have a coffee table! Or a side table!”

Harry shrugged, “It’s a small place. Walk to the kitchen or put it on the floor.”

With a scoff, Malfoy put the teacup down gently onto the floor. “I don’t see how you manage not to tread on and ruin all your dishes if this is how you do things here. Honestly.”

The tone with which Malfoy said “honestly” reminded Harry quite a lot of Hermione, but he didn’t think it likely that either of them would take the comparison kindly.

“I’ll let the Ministry know about the dementors,” Harry said.

With a nod Malfoy looked to the television once more. “That electronic really is quite impressive. How does it work?”

“Er?” Harry shrugged, “I’m not totally sure. Signals are sent through cables- those cords there, they’ve got metal wires in them, and then the screen has coloured pixels that turn into the different images based on what comes through the cable.”

Malfoy turned his nose up, “Where is Granger when you need her? She never failed to have annoyingly thorough knowledge on every subject.”

Irritation flared in Harry, but he suspected that Malfoy’s insolent comment was actually meant as a sort of compliment for Hermione. Suddenly all too aware of how bizarre and awkward this interaction was, Harry stood and said, “Well, thank you, Malfoy. For the patronus.”

“Well I could hardly let you succumb to dementors, given my knowledge of your past.”

Scowling Harry asked, “Are you referring to the incident on the train, which you publicly mocked me for? Or the time that I nearly fell to my death while fifty feet in the air? Or perhaps the time you impersonated a dementor, either meaning to sabotage my whole quidditch team or hoping I actually _would_ fall to my death?”

With a refined sniff of disapproval, Malfoy said, “You happen to be the youngest wizard recorded to cast a fully corporeal patronus, Potter. It would have been simply too ironic for a dementor to lay a kiss on you. Never mind that I would certainly have been blamed for it given I was at the scene.”

“Why were you in muggle London anyways?” Harry felt so off balance he had forgotten to ask earlier.

Hand resting on the doorknob, Malfoy replied, “I have several investments in the muggle market. I was visiting the bank.”

For the first time Harry took proper stock of what Malfoy was wearing. Slim grey trousers and a black wool overcoat, above which a pale blue silk scarf poked out. Not exactly common muggle fashion for an eighteen year old bloke, but not too out there, either. And Malfoy hadn’t taken his coat off at all during the thirty minutes he’d been in Harry’s home. Harry’s hosting would leave something to be desired in the eyes of Molly.

“Doesn’t _that_ strike you as a bit ironic?”

“What, Potter?”

“That you were part of a group that despised muggles, yet you’ve got what I’m guessing is a lot of money in the muggle market?”

“As it happens, Potter, the investments were only very recently made. I have taken over the Malfoy accounts, and have determined that diversifying is in the best interest of the estate. Not,” he said definitively, “that it is any of _your _business.”

“Alright, well. Goodnight, then,” Harry said.

Malfoy nodded tersely and left his apartment. Shuffling back to the living space, Harry flopped down on the couch and stared at the roof, trying to sort out what the fuck had just happened.

\---


	4. An Impossible Undertaking

Eeylop’s Owl Emporium was glorious in its chaos. The building had a small rectangular space lined with shelves of supplies and a small till to the right of the door. To the left was a tower that stretched up several stories. The tower had no floors or stairs, though there were windows spaced at even intervals. Pegs stuck out erratically all the way up, with dozens of owls of differing breeds jostling for the best spots.

“Harry Potter!” Eeylop sputtered on seeing Harry enter.

“Good morning,” Harry greeted politely.

Eeylop raced around the till to shake Harry’s hand enthusiastically. “Eric Eeylop the second, Mr. Potter. Very pleased to meet you. Thank you, er, for your service!”

Eric Eeylop looked to be about thirty, and Harry wondered if his disposition was always a mix of earnest and anxious, or if it was just with Harry. That people simply could not act normally around Harry drove him mad. It had always been a fact of his life in the wizarding world, but had gotten much worse since the war ended. He supposed he ought to thank his lucky stars that his literal resurrection from death hadn’t made its way into common knowledge yet.

“I’m uh, looking for an owl. One that is sturdy enough, but also friendly. A companion?”

“Oh yes,” Eric said. “I had heard about your Snowy, so sorry for your loss. They are truly wonderful birds, Snowies.”

“She was,” Harry replied tightly. “But, er, maybe another breed this time round? And… a male?”

Harry had avoided this task for several months. He just could not bring himself to replace Hedwig. But going to the post office every time he needed an owl was becoming unsustainable.

“I’ve just the one, Mr. Potter.” Eeylop held up a small whistle that hung from a leather cord around his neck and piped a quick tune.

A large barn owl swooped down from near the top of the tower, jutting its head out irritably at a screech owl that got in his way. He landed on Eeylop’s extended arm and hooted politely towards Harry. His broad, white face reminded Harry of the full moon.

“He’s just a year old, but picked up post-training very quickly. He’s quite affectionate.”

Harry held his hand out for the owl to suss out, but instead it hopped onto his arm, climbing right up to his shoulder where it rubbed its head against Harry’s cheek. That was that.

The newly named Oscar contentedly sat on Harry’s shoulder as he headed for The Leaky to take the floo to the Ministry.

\---

“Mr. Potter,” Janet, Kingsley’s secretary greeted happily.

“Janet, good morning. Is the Minister in any meetings or anything right now? I need to chat with him.”

“Just some paperwork at the mo’. I think he could use a break. Go ahead through.”

Thinking that this would probably _not_ be the kind of break Kingsley needed, Harry opened the door. The Minister was rubbing his bald head tiredly.

“Harry!” Kingsley did seem pleased to see him. “Did you decide you want to take me up on the Auror training offer? You’ll have to wait until January for the next intake I’m afraid. I’d be delighted to take you over to meet Head Auror Parker if you wanted. I’ve been looking at infrastructure repair requests for some of the war damages and I cannot see straight.”

“Can’t someone else do that?” Harry asked, feeling like there must be enough on the man’s plate.

With a sigh Kingsley said, “Well they’ve been sorted through and narrowed down. These are just ones that need to be decided between. Unfortunately we do not have the funding for everything and likely won’t accrue it any time soon.”

“Ah.” Harry sat in the chair across from Kingsley.

“Who’s the new friend?” the man asked kindly, observing the owl who had remained steadfastly on Harry’s shoulder despite the journey by floo. Harry had tried to shoo him off home but Oscar had narrowed his eyes and tightened his talon’s around Harry’s shoulder.

“Oscar. It’s our first day together. Hate to say it, Kingsley, but I’m not here on a social visit.”

Tired eyes met Harry’s, “What tangle have you got yourself in now?”

“Three dementors yesterday- just round the corner from my flat,” Harry grimaced.

“I really do have people on it, Harry. Good people.”

“I know you do. There’s more though… The muggle news is reporting increases in suicide. And states of catatonia. They think there must be a new street drug to blame. But…”

“Dementors in muggle London,” Kingsley agreed gravely. “Alright. I’ll make sure the task force is strengthened. Don’t worry.”

Harry stood, always feeling a little awkward with the priority he received at the Minister’s office. “Thanks, Kingsley. I’m glad you’re the Minister. We all are, I hope you know that.”

“Tell Hermione,” Kingsley chuckled darkly. “I’ll see you at Molly and Arthur’s for the Halloween dinner?”

Harry nodded and ducked out of the office, waving quickly to Janet before heading home to write the letter he’d spent most of last night thinking about.

After giving Oscar a quick tour of his flat, Harry sat on a rickety stool at his breakfast bar with parchment, ink and quill laid out.

“Alright,” he sighed.

_Hermione,_

_Meet Oscar (Wilde- I thought you might appreciate that). I hope school’s still going well. Miss you and Ron and Gin loads. Still love my flat, though. _

_Kingsley says hi. Don’t worry, but I ran into some dementors again in muggle London. I let Kingsley know. He said he will strengthen the task force that is relocating them back to Azkaban. Please don’t send him a howler. He looks tired and he is doing his best at a job I would rather get married to Moaning Myrtle than do. _

_Something really bizarre happened, though. The dementors caught me by surprise but someone else came along and cast an undefined patronus, which kept them off well enough that I could cast my own. It was Malfoy, actually. Said he had some muggle banking that brought him into the area. He didn’t have any chocolate so he followed me back to my flat for some to make sure that I made it alright. Said he didn’t want to be blamed for my being attacked. We had tea and chocolate and he watched my telly. _

_Anyways…. Sending my love,_

_Harry_

Hoping that his letter came off casually enough, Harry tied it to Oscar’s leg and sent him on his way. After Malfoy had left the previous evening, Harry realized that Malfoy had initially called him by his first name. It was probably just to get through to him, given that Harry was sinking into a dementor induced delirium. Harry decided it was best not to share that part, or how much he had been thinking about it, with Hermione. With the same reasoning, he left out the muggle news report as well.

\---

The next evening Harry looked through the peephole on his door to see Draco Malfoy standing imperiously on the other side. Another demanding knock sounded and Harry swung the door open, hoping he didn’t look as baffled as he felt.

“Potter,” Malfoy greeted, holding a pile of books with a bottle of Ogden’s balanced on top.

“Malfoy?”

Malfoy proceeded to push past Harry and began to set his books down on the breakfast bar. He turned back to Harry and offered the bottle, saying “I brought firewhiskey.”

Rubbing the back of his neck, Harry said, “Thanks but I, er, don’t drink, actually.”

“You don’t?” Malfoy asked brows raised, “Why on earth not?”

Truthfully, Harry had spent one night a few weeks after the Battle of Hogwarts drinking himself stupid in Grimmauld Place with only the portraits of Sirius’s bitchy ancestors for company. He woke to Kreacher peeling his eyes open and then heaving a relieved sigh, exclaiming that he thought his young master might have been dead. Harry didn’t like that he had very little memory of the previous night. He didn’t like how he felt waking up on the floor of the drawing room. And he didn’t like the thought that he could drown out his guilt and plentiful other emotions if only he had enough liquor. So he decided he wasn’t going to drink anymore.

He just wasn’t going to tell Malfoy that.

“Not that it isn’t delightful to see you Malfoy, but why are in my flat asking impertinent questions?”

Malfoy rolled his eyes, setting the bottle on the counter, “Potter, you have a long history of asking impertinent questions. I’m here on a very important matter, as it happens. Did you speak with the Minister?”

Resigned to having Malfoy impose himself on Harry’s space for at least a while, Harry- who’d been sitting in the dark in front of the television- waved his wand to light some candles and turned the kettle on.

“Kingsley said it’s all under control, they’re going to bolster the task force in charge of relocating the rogue dementors.”

Malfoy scoffed and walked around the counter to stare intently at Harry. “He lied.”

“He did not lie,” Harry said with a flush of irritation. “He is planning to bring on more people.”

“He might not have lied about the task force part but he certainly lied about the problem being under control,” Malfoy challenged.

Harry ignored him, and turned his focus to fixing up a black tea for himself- he preferred it so over-steeped that Ron frequently conjectured as to what sort of psychological damage one has to have incurred to prefer their tea that way. Then, with an internal sigh, he made up one for Malfoy with a dash of milk. Harry wasn’t quite sure why he was doing anything that would encourage the other boy to stay in his flat and carry on with his accusations.

“Potter, I have an inside source-”

“_I _have an inside source, Malfoy. The bloody Minister for Magic!”

“No, no. I know Dickens from the Department of Mysteries. And they haven’t been able to regain control of the dementors at all. They’ve got the ones that never left Azkaban, and when they started shuttling people off there it placated those ones. But the ones that came over to the mainland with the Dark Lord? They’ve no control of them at all!”

Harry pushed Malfoy’s tea towards him on the counter, then picked up his own and settled into his armchair with it. “Malfoy, it’s under the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and the Department for Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.”

“The Unspeakables know _everything_ though, Potter.” Draco scooped up his books along with his tea and settled himself onto Harry’s couch, muttering darkly about the lack of a coffee table. “The thing is, Potter, they are just trying to relocate them back to Azkaban. I’ve heard word that the long term plan is to discontinue the use of dementors as prison guards, but if that is done, we don’t have any bargaining chips. They will wreak worse havoc than they are at present!”

“So what, in all your wisdom, Malfoy, do you propose?”

“There _must_ be a way to destroy them!” When Harry stared blankly at him, Malfoy added, “And we are going to find it.”

Harry stared at Malfoy, sitting on his couch in heavy wool overcoat with a strand of his perfect hair falling into his wide and eager eyes. “We as in you and me?”

“Obviously,” Malfoy sneered. “You with your admittedly remarkable capabilities to produce a powerful patronus, me with my, well brains,”- at this Malfoy looked vaguely sheepish- “and access to a nearly unparalleled library.”

Hanging his head off the back cushions of his armchair, Harry thought for a moment. He turned back to Malfoy and said through a sneer of his own, “Why would I want to work with you? Why would you want to work with me? Why not just go to the Ministry with your books and _brain_?”

“The answer to the last question ought to be obvious, they wouldn’t trust me. I’ve already answered your second question- your patronus. And as for the first? I’m hedging my bets that you are already going out of your mind this autumn stumbling around without some heroic _purpose._”

Well. If that didn’t hit a little too close to the truth.

Malfoy sat back on Harry’s couch with an air of self-satisfaction. “One more question,” Harry said, half hoping that Malfoy would give him a solid reason to say ‘no thanks and fuck off’, “Why do you want to do any of this? What do you care?”

Pursing his lips and meeting Harry’s gaze steadily, Malfoy answered, “Dementors are a scourge that spread misery.”

After a moment’s more contemplation Harry said, “You can show me your books, and tell me your theories or whatever. But I am not committing to anything. I don’t trust you any more than the Ministry does.”

Without a care to that last bit, Malfoy pulled out one of his books and began rifling through the pages. He’d just opened his mouth to begin what Harry was sure would be an academic rant worthy of Hermione when Harry interrupted him.

“You may as well take your coat off and settle in then, Malfoy.”

He appeared a little startled, then set his tea down on the ground and efficiently unbuttoned his coat with graceful fingers. Looking around, he asked, “Is there no coat rack or wardrobe?”

“The only wardrobe is in my bedroom and you are _not_ welcome there. No coat rack. You can put it on the other side of the couch or over a kitchen stool.”

Malfoy wrinkled his nose delicately and slid his coat off, placing it gently across the opposite arm of the couch. He was wearing muggle style clothing again; grey pants and a light green dress shirt that were impeccably tailored.

“Why are you living here anyways? Didn’t you inherit Grimmauld Place?”

It was hard to miss in his tone that Malfoy took this as a personal insult. Harry recalled Sirius explaining the family tree plastered to the house’s dingy walls. Narcissa Malfoy was Sirius’s cousin.

“What’s in the book, Malfoy?”

“It’s _A History of Azkaban_, by Wagner. Azkaban was a built as a fortress, basically a temple for the dark arts, by this nutter called Ekrizdis who was quite possibly more insane than He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Seriously sadistic. Lured in sailors.” Malfoy turned and held the book out so Harry could see a drawing of Azkaban that was dated from the late fifteenth century. “No one knew the place even existed until after he died and when some local wizards went to check it out, they wouldn’t even speak about the evils they saw. It was described by Kent as ‘looking into the depths of hell’. One of them didn’t make it out at all. _But_ that was the first recorded sighting of dementors.”

Basically, the government at the time, which was rather shoddy and dealing with the beginning of Europe’s witch hunts didn’t know what to do. Some of the men that visited thought it would be best to demolish it. But a few of them were certain that the dementors couldn’t be killed, and that they would take revenge if their home was destroyed. A couple made the very accurate point that the fortress itself had likely accrued enough dark magic to fight back against anyone who tried to damage it.”

“Wait, the building could fight back?”

Malfoy had a way of speaking that was really sort of captivating. He waved his hands for emphasis and told the story like a stage actor. Harry suddenly understood how he had managed to have so many lackies in school.

“Most places where magic is continually and frequently used soak up a fair amount of that power, Potter. Haven’t you ever read _Hogwarts a History_? Eventually, the government had a problem of another sort- wizarding prisons around Britain were too conspicuous, and we were in the process of fully separating from muggle society. So Minister at the time, Rowle, struck a deal with the dementors and sent all the prisoners there. Later another Minister decided that the system was inhumane and looked into closing the prison, but experts pushed back, saying that the dementors would likely leave the island, looking- for lack of a better term- for another food source. Which would be an ‘uncontrollable problem’.

“So basically what this book says is that the dementors can’t be destroyed and you’re roping me into an impossible undertaking?”

“No, Potter,” Malfoy replied irritably. “This is just one book. And nothing is invincible.”

Harry was a touch doubtful, and about to say as much when a frantic tapping on the window interrupted them. Standing, Harry stretched before going to let Oscar in. The bird held his leg out and let Harry untie the attached letter, then swooped in for a landing on Malfoy’s lap.

Had him for one day, and he’s already a traitor. 

Malfoy smiled softly as Oscar nuzzled his hand. “Who are you?”

“That’s Oscar,” Harry said, banishing Hermione’s letter to his room for later. “He’s named after Oscar Wilde, not that I suppose you’d know him. He’s a muggle writer from Ireland, nineteenth century. Very famous.”

“I do know who Oscar Wilde is! He’s-” Malfoy seemed to realize he was a little too excited, and took a moment to clear his throat. “There’s rumours that one of his lovers was a wizard, and that’s what inspired _The Picture of Dorian Gray._”

Harry hummed, “That would make a lot of sense.” The book had entranced and horrified nine year old Harry so much that he’d stolen it from the library and hidden under his mattress in the cupboard from Aunt Petunia. In retrospect, it was perhaps the theme of dark magic that had drawn him to it.

“Yes, well,” Malfoy looked pensive. “Let’s call it a night, shall we? And schedule a proper meeting for continuing on with our research?”

“You’re the one who keeps forcing your way into _my_ flat Malfoy.”

“I’m busy tomorrow,” he replied. “Are you able to meet the following evening? If you are finding this to be too taxing on your sorely lacking hospitality, we could meet at the flat I keep in Diagon Alley for those nights I choose to remain in the city. You’ll have to floo, though. I don’t reckon either of us would enjoy any Prophet articles that might result from you being seen at my door.”

Malfoy pulled a business card out of his wallet and passed it to Harry, before donning his coat, bidding Harry goodnight and heading out the door.

Harry, eyes wide, reopened the door to call down the hallway, “Malfoy! You didn’t even confirm that I _could_ make day after tomorrow!”

“Eight o’clock, Potter,” Malfoy called back, not even glancing back over his shoulder.

What sort of eighteen year old carried around business cards? Harry growled, looking at the offensive item. And he had left the firewhiskey. Harry stuck it in his cupboard for some unforeseeable time when he may be able to offer it to guests.

Oscar hopped onto Harry’s lap as he sat back into his chair. He summoned Hermione’s letter and opened it apprehensively.

_Harry,_

_We miss you!!! It’s probably not too late to decide you want to join us this year after all. Though, it’s really been quite fast paced and there is loads that we have learnt already. I could write up a study plan for you! _

_I am glad to hear that you are enjoying your flat. And Oscar is an absolute delight! _

_Please remind Kingsley that I have my eye on him, next you meet. It is absolutely appalling that you have encountered dementors in muggle London. And twice no less! I do hope you are being safe._

_The Malfoy thing _is_ very bizarre and please be cautious with that as well. I am not sure how I feel about him knowing where your flat is… I didn’t get the sense that he was keen for revenge at the trials, but you never know, Harry. The idea of him watching telly is hilarious, I have to admit. I’m guessing you addressed the letter only to me because you don’t want Ron to go off on a tangent about Malfoy, so don’t worry, I didn’t tell him._

_We both send all our love, though,_

_Hermione_

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The dementor lore in this chapter is derived from pottermore, and as with the general world and characters, belongs to JKR. I did make up the book Draco references


	5. Dementor Propagation and Dilophosaurus Colouration

The Leaky was just a dingy as ever, yet Harry still got a thrill each time he walked in the door from the muggle street. His first gateway to the magical world. It was fairly quiet, though there were a handful of patrons taking advantage of the stew for a sickle deal. Harry was quite sure he did not want to try the stew. There looked to be a chicken foot poking out of one witch’s bowl.

With the hope of remaining discrete, the hood of Harry’s dust-red hoodie was pulled up. Oscar had absolutely refused to let Harry leave the flat without him, and was riding along on his shoulder, which somewhat detracted from his efforts to go incognito. He was much clingier than Hedwig, always dignified, had been. At least, Harry figured, he hadn’t been seen with Oscar enough yet for him to become an identifying factor.

Harry wound through the crowded tables to the counter and grabbed Tom’s attention. Tom raised a brow and gave Harry a small smile. He’s not known for smiling, much, but Tom has had a soft spot for Harry ever since those few weeks before third year when he rented a room upstairs.

They exchanged a few pleasantries before Harry asked, “For a galleon can I borrow a private floo?”

He imagined that Malfoy would be displeased if Harry, instructed to take the floo for discretion, used the large, roaring fire that stood prominently against one wall of the pub’s main room. Tom chuckled and led Harry up to the old room he’d rented. The mirror made a rude remark about Harry’s “childish clothing choices” before Tom bade him goodbye and Harry stepped into the floo.

On landing Oscar hooted contentedly and flew away from Harry’s shoulder into the flat.

“What kind of batty owl wants to travel in the floo?” Malfoy asked.

“You know,” Harry said as, rather than looking up, he brushed soot off the bottom of his torn jeans, “I don’t actually have a floo in my flat.”

“Well I do hope that you didn’t announce to a room full of Weasleys, or worse strangers, that you were headed here.” Malfoy was reclined coolly against the opposing wall, arms crossed and a smirk on his lips. He glanced perfunctorily at Oscar who’d settled himself on the back of a couch before turning an assessing gaze on Harry. “And whatever are you wearing?”

“What normal guys wear in the muggle world, Malfoy. And no, rest assured.”

“Well, come in, then.”

The flat wasn’t quite what Harry was expecting. It was a very modern, industrial style studio with concrete floors and light grey walls. The pipes overhead were exposed and the furnishings were minimalist, dark leather. A bed was tucked behind a half wall, neatly made in crisp white. It must be about double the size of his own place, Harry figured. In the late evening, the sun was at such an angle that it set the whole place warmly aglow, despite its cold palette.

The two of them stood awkwardly, not quite meeting one another’s eyes until the piercing whistle of a kettle startled them both.

“Tea!” Malfoy announced with relief.

“Black,” Harry replied with a grimace that was meant to be a smile. “Leave the bag in for a good long while.”

Malfoy shook his head. His hair, which has grown enough that it might have looked scruffy if it weren’t for how pin straight it was, fell around his face. “I don’t see how you get any sleep when you drink your tea like that at all hours of the night.”

“Never been a great sleeper,” Harry admitted, following Malfoy towards the kitchen area. He leaned against the sparkling granite counter and said, “You know Malfoy, I’ve some experience with taking on ridiculous tasks that should almost certainly be left to other people to manage.”

Malfoy glared over his shoulder at Harry as he stirred milk into his own cup of tea, “Your point, Potter?”

With a small shrug, Harry said, “This is one of them.”

After many hours of contemplation, Harry had decided that, for the most part, he believed Malfoy’s reasons for wanting to find a way to destroy the dementors. Maybe it was just the result of his father having been recently subjected to the dementor’s kiss. Maybe it was that Malfoy, just as Harry, had experienced enough darkness and misery over the last few years, and simply didn’t want to stand for it any longer. There was an _earnestness_ in Malfoy during their recent interactions that garnered some trust. And, if he had other motivations as well- like wanting to regain some public standing… Well, Harry supposed he couldn’t really blame the boy. But he did want to be certain that Malfoy was sure. That Malfoy knew Harry wouldn’t spend hours dealing with his snide and snark for his not-quite-enemy to give up and chase some easier means to win over the wizarding community- he certainly had the financial means to do so.

“Except,” Malfoy said in a heated tone, “that the Ministry doesn’t have a clue what they’re doing and they can barely scrape up the resources to deal with the problem even if they did.”

“Sure, sure,” Harry replied amiably. “Before we go diving back into your texts, we need to talk about your patronus.”

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t enjoying coming into Malfoy’s space and throwing him off balance after the last few days. Yesterday, Harry had tried to fall back into the boring rhythm he’d been in since his friends had returned to Hogwarts. He’d slept in a little, swung by George’s shop for a couple of hours before business hours to help with inventory, walked the long route home in the rain and ended the day watching television over a container of takeout. It was all very forced. This morning he’d jumped out of bed, gone for a run and on returning to his flat had written out notes on every encounter with dementors he’d had and the things he’d learnt from teaching the DA how to do the patronus charm.

Malfoy, tense and jagged, set Harry’s tea in front of him. “What about it?”

“Have you ever cast a corporeal one?”

“No.”

“How long have you been able to cast the mist?”

“Listen, Potter, I’ve spent enough time being interrogated in the last months…”

“Malfoy?” Harry prodded in the tone that McGonagall used when she had no intention of letting a student talk their way out of a situation.

“That was the first time, alright?”

“Alright,” Harry replied, all relaxed affability once more. “So if you intend to set out to do the historically impossible and destroy the things, I’ll need to coach you.” He caught the look on Malfoy’s face and added firmly, “Non-negotiable.”

“I am certain I could manage to practice and develop aptitude on my own,” Malfoy said with a small frown. “I am quite skilled at charms, you know.”

With an obnoxious slurp of his tea, Harry said, “No. I don’t know you, really, at all.”

Malfoy narrowed his eyes. “Stop that.”

“What?”

“You’re trying to make me uncomfortable.”

Harry shrugged, “It’s interesting to see you outside of school. You’re still an arrogant git, but you’re putting on less of a show about it.”

For a brief moment, as Malfoy’s fists clenched, Harry thought he’d perhaps pushed a bit too far and was going to get hit for it. But Malfoy took a deep breath and stalked over to the living area, where the coffee table held a stack of books.

“Newt Scamander didn’t include dementors in _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them,_” he said tightly, “But he did collaborate with Ida Oliver to write _Dark Creatures_ and they have an entire chapter dedicated to dementors.”

Relieved that he hadn’t found himself shoved back out the floo, Harry sat down on the floor at the other side of the coffee table. Malfoy looked exasperated but sat on his couch and charmed a quill to take notes as he read out portions of the text that seemed likely to be of use. Once in a while, he or Harry would direct the quill to add in some of their own thoughts. Not that he had been concerned, but Malfoy reassured Harry that he had already taken down notes from the Azkaban text they’d reviewed the other night. The scroll Harry had written out that morning remained tucked into the pocket of his hoodie for a later time. He didn’t want to show his own overly eager hand quite yet.

They spent the most time debating the logistics of dementor reproduction.

“It’s _not_ reproduction like you would typically think of it though, Potter,” Malfoy exclaimed, running his hand through his hair with a look of frustration marring his face. “The authors state very clearly that the dementors propagate like _fungus_. They don’t mate, they find a suitable environment- where there is enough misery for them to be insidious, but plentiful positive human emotions for them to feed on as well- and grow and grow and grow!”

Oscar cried out in agreement, hopped across the table and butted his head affectionately against Malfoy.

“Well then,” Harry asked, wishing he weren’t discussing bloody dementor _mating_ with Draco Malfoy and an owl, “couldn’t we just starve them?”

Malfoy shot Harry a look of condescension. “For that, Potter, we would need to have a way to round them all up, firstly. And then to _keep_ them somewhere. And that place couldn’t be Azkaban. Even if we were able to remove the prisoners that they feed on, the dark magic in the place is what first created a suitable environment for them to take hold. In fact, Azkaban is the only known natural habitat for them, if you were listening properly the other night. It would need to be an extremely neutral and isolated environment to have any chance at actually _starving _the things.”

“Alright,” Harry replied, heaving a sigh. “What else does Scamander and what’s-her-name have to say about them, then?”

“Ida Oliver,” Draco answered primly, turning back to the text.

Over an hour later Harry twisted his back to pop the joints and heaved a sigh. “I’m beat. Let’s call it a night, shall we?”

Malfoy had worked himself into somewhat of a fervour over the last hours, slowly losing his polish. He had undone the top several buttons of his shirt, and had moved to roll up his sleeves, before freezing and pulling them back down to his hands, no doubt wanting to minimize any reminder of his past amongst the Death Eaters. He’d been running his hands over his hair every few minutes in a futile attempt to keep it out of his face.

“Fine,” he agreed irritably. He stood and stretched his arms high above him before pulling out his wand and walking around the perimeter of his loft, mumbling an incantation. “I’ve keyed you into the wards, you can apparate in and out, now.”

“Er, thanks.” Harry stuttered. “Uhm, when…?”

With tired eyes, Malfoy suggested, “How does every other evening sound? I don’t know about you, but I have other responsibilities to attend to.”

Harry restrained himself from rolling his eyes. He’d not been kidding when he told Malfoy he knew all about undertakings like this. Malfoy was already fully obsessed with the dementor problem, and his pursuit of Harry’s aid was the very opposite of blasé.

“Sure, but we also alternate places. Mine is much cozier.”

“Fine. But key me into your wards, too.”

“You’re mental. Do you not remember me saying I don’t trust you less than forty-eight hours ago?”

Clenching his jaw, Malfoy said, “Fine, then. But I could easily undo your wards if I wanted.”

“Listen Malfoy,” Harry flushed with anger, “I’m giving you a chance to earn my trust. When you do, I’ll throw you a welcome through my wards party.”

“Whatever, Potter,” Malfoy snapped. “See you Saturday.”

\---

The couch, armchair, telly and stand were all shrunken and pushed into a corner of his tiny sitting room. Harry surveyed the space with satisfaction. It wouldn’t be adequate once Malfoy progressed, but for now it was enough space for him to practice in.

Malfoy’s tidy, business-like knock sounded. When Harry let him in, he glanced around and sighed heavily. Dropping his texts on the kitchen counter, he removed his jacket and placed it carefully over a stool at the bar. Oscar was waiting on the counter, shifting impatiently from foot to foot. Malfoy reached out to ruffle his feathers before pulling out his wand and turning to Harry expectantly.

“Hello to you too, Malfoy,” Harry said cheerfully. “Let’s see your best.”

With a lip curling up disdainfully, Malfoy said, “_Expect Patronum!_” to no effect.

“Well you can’t produce one if you’re too focused on how much you dislike me or whatever.”

Malfoy slid narrowed eyes over to Harry, “Don’t flatter yourself Potter. I certainly don’t dislike you enough to be driven to distraction.”

Very intentionally, Harry leaned back against the wall, crossed his arms and smirked as Malfoy himself was often wont to do. “Alright. Take a moment. Close your eyes and breathe in to a count of four. Hold it for four, and then take a count of six on the exhale.”

Malfoy scowled then did as instructed, chest rising as he inhaled deeply. His eyes fluttered open and he raised his wand to cast again. This time the charm resulted in a faint wisp of silvery light that remained attached to the tip of Malfoy’s wand.

“Better,” Harry said. “Are you thinking of a good memory?”

“I know the basic theory,” Malfoy growled lowly.

“I actually think the textbooks are a bit off, on this one.” Harry replied. “I’ve always found it to be more effective to draw out and sort of weave together the intangible _feelings_ behind several key happy memories, rather than choosing one memory to use as a talisman.”

Contemplative, Malfoy swept his hair back from his face and took another moment to centre his breathing. When he raised his wand and called out, “_Expecto Patronum!” _a cloud of silver, shifting as though it _wanted_ to take form, flew out of his wand and hovered in the centre of the room.

Harry clapped his hands together excitedly. “Great!”

Progress stagnated after that. It didn’t take long for Malfoy to begin to look at the walls, plastered with smiling pictures of Harry’s friends, as if he were being judged. Harry suggested they call it quits and pulled out his own notes on his experiences with dementors, which Malfoy reviewed with an air of surprise. The other man looked relieved when, once done looking over the notes, Harry put his sitting room furniture back to place, pulled out a bar of chocolate, and turned the television on, flipping channels until he found one playing _Jurassic Park_.

Malfoy provided incessant critical commentary- “If wizards have been unable to bring any species of dinosaur back to life, there is no way muggles could” and “The colouring is all wrong on that Dilophosaurus, don’t muggles know anything? - until the credits began to roll and he stiffly remarked, “That was entertaining.”

Harry, who’d bit his tongue throughout the movie turned to Malfoy with an eyebrow raised inquiringly. “How do you know anything about dinosaurs?”

Shrugging and looking just a little abashed, Malfoy said, “I’ve always enjoyed reading. Dinosaurs were a favourite topic of mine as a child. I’ve a whole bookshelf dedicated to them at the Manor.”

“I think muggles just use educated guesses about what dinosaurs might've looked like based on their fossils. I suppose wizards have a spell?”

“_Lineamenti moves revelare,” _Malfoy replied promptly.

Chuckling softly Harry asked, “Why didn’t you go back to Hogwarts?”

Malfoy was just as swotty as Hermione, evidently. If the pile of books on dementors which Malfoy’d been carting around hadn’t been enough indication to that front, the image that popped into Harry’s imagination of a pre-Hogwarts Draco Malfoy sitting cross legged on the floor bent zealously over a collection of books on dinosaurs certainly was. It was oddly endearing.

“Why didn’t you?” Malfoy asked, a challenge in his tone. When Harry hesitated, he added, “Don’t ask questions you don’t want to answer yourself, Potter.”

He’d donned his coat and was stood at the door with his books gathered against his chest when before he said, “Didn’t think I’d be much welcome anymore. My flat Monday, Potter.”

Harry, who had remained silent on the couch, stared at the closed door for a moment before turning to Oscar, “Bit of a dramatic exit, don’t you think?” The owl clicked his beak in agreement.

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As with the previous chapter, most of the dementor lore in this chapter was from pottermore. The book which Draco is referencing, Dark Creatures, was imagined for this fanfic.   
Hope you enjoy the update!


	6. Ancestral Ghosts

On Monday, Harry apparated into Malfoy’s flat with Oscar clinging tightly to his shoulder as he’d been instructed to do. Harry had tried to leave him at home, informing the owl that apparition was a whole new level of uncomfortable compared to flooing. He’d reassured Oscar that he would always come home to feed him or let him out for a hunt. But the pitiful creature had just looked at him with his wide eyes and broad honest face and Harry had to give in. The first thing Harry did on his arrival was turn to Oscar and check that he seemed unharmed. Oscar hooted gently, bumped his face up against Harry’s and then flew to Malfoy’s shoulder, where he received an affectionate greeting.

Harry ducked his head to hide his look of amusement. Once he’d managed to pull together a neutral expression, he asked Malfoy, “Have you ever encountered a boggart? I know that in third year our class got to practice on one, but I think we destroyed it and I don’t know if Lupin found more for the other houses.”

With a look that made clear how very unimpressed he was, Malfoy replied, “No, he did not give the rest of us the opportunity. But I live in a very old and large wizarding home, yes I have had a run in or two with a boggart.”

“What did it turn into for you?” Harry asked, curiously.

“None of your business.”

“I’m not just being nosy,” Harry rolled his eyes. “But whatever, don’t tell me. Do you think it would turn into the same thing now?”

Malfoy paused, understanding spreading across his features. “No,” he said softly. “I think it would turn into a dementor. My father… I visit him every Sunday.”

Unsure what to do with that confession, Harry laid a cautious hand on Malfoy’s shoulder before quickly pulling away as it met tense muscles. “Boggarts turn into dementors for me, too. That’s how I learnt to cast a patronus- Lupin found another one for me. So, we’re going to Grimmauld Place.”

Harry stuck out his arm for Malfoy to side-along. Looking immensely displeased, Malfoy hooked his arm through Harry’s. A soft whistle called Oscar over, and he swooped down to hook his claws into the shoulder of Harry’s jacket. At least the bird seemed clear on floo and apparition safety, if he was going to insist on going everywhere with Harry. After a moment of constrictive pressure, the three of them landed on the steps to Number 12, Grimmauld Place.

Pulling his arm from Harry’s, Malfoy stepped as far away as was possible on the landing. Harry stretched his jaw into a huge yawn, popping his ears. Then he waved his wand over the knob and the door swung compliantly open.

“Quiet,” he warned.

Malfoy followed behind Harry, moving gracefully. It was Harry who gave them up. He tripped over the troll leg umbrella stand, which rattled down the hall.

With an angry shake of his head he muttered, “It’s been too long since I’ve come round here regularly. Rookie mistake. Or maybe it’s not been long enough. Forever’s too soon.”

Malfoy raised an inquiring brow as Mrs. Black began screaming about disgrace. He followed Harry down the hall to where her portrait hung.

“Shut it you old bint!” Harry said viciously. Oscar added to the chaotic scene by flapping up and down the hallway, screeching his displeasure.

“I WILL NOT!” she shrieked in a pitch not dissimilar to Oscar’s racket. “_You_\- _You _do not deserve to live in this honoured house of Black! You are always bringing blood traitors and MUDBLOODS to my HOME!”

The woman, with gaunt dark eyes and hair pulled tightly back above the high, lacey neck of her dress, blinked and turned to the Harry’s companion. “But you’re a Malfoy.”

Malfoy nodded respectfully, “Yes. And my mother is Narcissa Black.”

She tilted her head slowly to the side. “What are you doing with _him_?”

“We’ve very important work to be getting about,” Malfoy explained. “The Ministry is failing in their duties and it so happens that Potter here has a useful skill, hence our partnership. It’s a rather new arrangement, but it seems he isn’t so bad, after all.”

Harry supposed that Malfoy was only really saying that to placate the damned portrait, but it surprised him all the same.

“Do you think, Great-Auntie, as a favour you might be able to stop from yelling at Potter for the near future? Just while we are working in here, of course.”

Glaring at Harry, she said begrudgingly, “I suppose. But only if it is just the two of you in here. I won’t tolerate any blood traitors or,” she shuddered, “mudbloods.”

“Certainly, Auntie. Thank you.” Draco turned to Harry (who was biting his tongue) expectantly, waiting for him to guide them onwards into the house.

“Oscar, go visit Kreacher in the kitchen, alright?”

He didn’t need to be told twice; The owl had a charm that was irresistible to even Kreacher, it seemed. When they’d visited the house earlier that day Oscar had found himself the recipient of a bountiful pile of meat scraps. Harry was pretty sure he’d caught Kreacher murmuring sweet nothings as he stroked Oscar, but he’d glowered so fiercely at Harry’s intrusion that Harry’d never be brave enough to mention it out loud.

Harry and Malfoy headed up to the room where Harry had stayed when the house was headquarters for the Order. On the way, Harry warned him not to open any doors. While Kreacher still lived in the house and did his best to maintain it, some of the infestations had returned over the two years that the house had sat largely unused. The doxies, in particular, were back with a vengeance.

Harry had found just what he’d needed when he’d come looking- a boggart in the armoire.

“Alright, take a moment to get ready,” Harry instructed as they entered the small bedroom. He’d forgotten how much he had enjoyed teaching the DA, and was rather looking forward to this.

When Malfoy nodded to indicate readiness, Harry flicked his wand to open the door. The temperature in the space dropped instantly. The rattling breath of a dementor filled the room. Harry swallowed hard, reminding himself that it was, however accurate, just an imitation.

Malfoy’s lips squeezed into a tight line and he raised his wand with a shaking hand. “_Ex-expecto Patronum,_” he said weakly. The scantest amount of light flickered at the tip of his wand. He stumbled back against the door to the hallway and the dementor pressed on towards them.

Harry waited a few beats, his breath clouding in front of him in the frigid air. When it became clear that Malfoy was not capable of trying again, he stepped forward, shouting, “_Riddikulus!_”

A tremendous gust of wind hit the sham dementor, causing it to tumble backwards, head over heels, rolling a few times before collapsing, leaving only the cape fluttering restlessly on the ground. With a jab of his wand, Harry send the boggart back into the armoire, door slamming behind it. Harry turned to look at Malfoy, who was pale.

Jaw clenched, Malfoy turned and stamped into the hallway. 

“Piss off, Potter!” He snarled as Harry went to follow him, a bar of chocolate in hand.

“Take the fucking chocolate, Malfoy!” Harry yelled back.

They stood, glaring at each other, shoulders squared for a long moment. Finally Malfoy said, “Fine. But fuck you.”

Harry, eyes wide, refrained from replying. He certainly hadn’t expected such a dramatic reaction. It wasn’t as though Malfoy hadn’t interacted with actual dementors before. And yeah, Harry had guessed correctly that Malfoy’s biggest fear might be dementors, after the trials and all, but he had hardly expected him to lose it like that. Not after how much he’d tormented Harry for losing consciousness in response to the dementors third year. Though, Harry had to acknowledge, third year was a long time ago.

Malfoy was chewing on his chocolate as though it had greatly offended him, glaring down the hall opposite Harry. Kreacher appeared with a loud crack, startling Malfoy. Tactfully pretending not to notice, Harry greeted Kreacher kindly. Yesterday, he’d asked Kreacher to keep himself scarce when Malfoy was over, but the elf was holding a tray with tea, milk and sugar, and it couldn’t be anything but helpful.

“Would Master and his guest like to move to the downstairs sitting room?” Kreacher asked, “It has been kept up nicely, just in case.”

“That is a wonderful idea, thank you Kreacher,” Harry replied fervently.

“Kreacher will bring the tea there, Master!” He disappeared with another crack. This one, at least, didn’t cause Malfoy to jump.

Harry edged carefully past Malfoy, to lead the way down the staircase. He hesitated partway, listening for Malfoy’s steps behind him. In the sitting room, Malfoy settled on a couch by the window, where some watery sunlight made its way into the room. As soon as he’d settled Oscar landed on his lap for a snuggle and Malfoy began robotically stroking his back. Harry fixed tea with a dash of milk for Malfoy and offered it to him with a look of apology. With a trembling hand- the other continuing to pet Oscar- Malfoy accepted it, still avoiding Harry’s eyes. Harry released a little sigh, then sat on a chair a ways away from Malfoy and sipped his own tea quietly.

After a while, he offered, “When they get too near me, I hear the most awful things. Back in third year, when they came onto the train? It was the first time that I can remember hearing my mother’s voice. She was pleading for my life. Screaming my name. I heard him, too. Voldemort.” Malfoy flinched. “The boggarts impact me the same way. First time I heard my dad’s voice was with Lupin, practicing on a boggart. When you found me, the other day, it was like I was back in the battle. I heard their screams- McGonagall, Ron and Hermione. Ginny.”

Harry recognized that his voice was wavering unsafely, and decided he’d shared enough. He gulped back some tea and risked another glance Malfoy’s way. The colour was back in his face, and he looked a bit less angry, maybe.

He huffed out a laugh and flicked his eyes over to Harry, “Well wasn’t I a right git, making fun of you?”

“Flagrant hypocrite, too,” Harry smiled slyly.

Malfoy shook his head ruefully. “In a lot of ways, I hated my father. But he was still my father, yeah? And now… Every week I go, and I sit with him for an hour- they don’t bother keeping those who have been kissed in Azkaban… just in some dingy old ministry building where they’ve done up a wing of cells and have only the most basic security precautions. Anyways, he’s gone, I know. Not sure why I keep going. For my mother, I suppose. Because she can’t.” His lips twisted in a way that made Harry think it was for himself, too.

In a moment that was pure ruthless Gryffindor bravery, Harry said, “I’m sorry, Draco.”

He looked at Harry intently, grey eyes heavy. “Me too.”

\---

After their visit to Grimmauld, they took a step back on the patronus practice. Harry determined that it would be safer to practice without a boggart until Malfoy was able to produce at least a partially formed patronus reliably. Malfoy put on a feeble front of being offended, but it was quite clear that he was actually relieved. Part of Harry wanted to say that Malfoy would need to produce a fully corporeal patronus before they tried him against the boggart again, but recalling the circumstances of the first time he produced one Harry realized that the imminent risk may well have been what led him to succeed.

Over the week before Halloween they continued to meet every other evening, splitting their time with the first half spent on research, the second on practice. Moments of tension inevitably arose, but for the most part they were beginning to map out one another’s personality quirks and sore spots, and were generally more comfortable with each other.

“Next meetings scheduled for Halloween,” Harry said one evening as Malfoy donned his coat. “I’m going to the Weasleys’ for a party- fancy dress and everything. McGonagall agreed to give a free pass to the eighth years and Ginny for the night, so they can join. Are we able to skip meeting? Or reschedule, if you’d prefer?”

While muggles left Halloween to children, wizarding communities celebrated it with everything they had. Students at Hogwarts didn’t often do fancy dress, it was just too much work to pack or owl in an outfit in for one day, but masquerade balls were a much loved tradition amongst those who weren’t stuck at school.

Malfoy smirked, “Sure, Potter. You look like an overeager puppy, you know.”

Harry shrugged, having quickly become accustomed to Malfoy’s condescending comments. He was just teasing, really. If Harry responded genuinely, he noticed Malfoy would give him a look somewhere between puzzled and pleased.

“When I was a kid, I would be desperate to go out trick or treating with my cousin, get done up in fancy dress and be someone else for a night. My aunt and uncle would lock me in my cupboard rather than let me go, and Dudley would brag about all his candy the next day. When I was a bit older, I learnt about the lines between this life and the next blurring on Halloween, and I’d lay in bed praying that my parents could get through some sort of message to me.”

Malfoy looking vaguely horrified. “Isn’t it also the day…”

“Well, yeah,” Harry replied sheepishly to the question Malfoy couldn’t bring himself to finish- _The day your parents were murdered?_ “But I actually didn’t know that until I was older. So I was really hung up on all these other aspects of Halloween for a long time. I don’t… I don’t think they’d want me to spend the day feeling all messed up about it. I have a few pictures of them in these really wild costumes with all their friends. Anyways, when I finally got to Hogwarts, that first Halloween… _literally _fucking magical. I mean, second year I went to Nearly Headless Nick’s _Deathday party_, which was horrid, but amazing. This’ll be the first year I’ve celebrated outside of Hogwarts. First year I get to wear fancy dress!”

Malfoy titled his head to the side, studying Harry. “What will you wear?”

“I’m going as Godric Gryffindor!” Harry exclaimed, bouncing with excitement. A distant part of him knew that he _should_ be more restrained. He was talking to Malfoy, after all. He was just too excited.

Scoffing, Malfoy replied, “Of course you are. We can skip. I’ll see you on the second, then. Pansy’s hosting a party of her own, anyways.”

At that, Harry’s eyes lit, “Fancy dress?”

“I intend to keep it rather subtle, I think. Pansy suggested I go as an angel, which I believe would be unadvisable. The media coverage would be rather a disaster. I _think_ she was being facetious, but it’s sometimes hard to tell.”

Harry hummed in sympathy before saying cheerfully, “Well, have fun!”

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter is so late. I have had a pretty terrible couple of weeks that left me both without time and emotional space to edit this chapter. I hope you enjoy it and any comments or constructive feedback are most welcomed!


	7. Halloween

Crowded into the Burrow on Halloween, Harry was positively buzzing with happiness. Ginny, Ron and Hermione had arrived the previous afternoon, Friday, following classes. Harry had shown up at the Burrow by noon, to wait for them with Molly and George, once he’d passed the shop over to Verity for the rest of the day. It was rare for George to take time away from the shop for anything but weekly family dinner.

Molly, whether because she suspected Harry was becoming a little too isolated since September or because she herself needed someone to take care of, had been inviting Harry over for dinner three times a week. Harry compromised and committed to weekly dinners on Saturdays. George, whom Molly would prefer to have over for dinner on a daily basis, had made the same agreement with his mother. He’d been pretending that he was too busy with the shop, but Harry knew it had much more to do with the way George’s grief crashed up against his mother’s.

Harry and George had agreed that if one of them ever had to bail on dinner they needed to give the other twenty-four hours’ notice to mentally prepare, as when the both of them were present Molly would at least divide her fretting between them. She’d spent the half hour before George joined them fussing about Harry’s weight and plying him with biscuits decorated like jack o’lanterns.

George, delightfully, had thrown some chaos into the mix, immediately handing Harry a small viewfinder toy which, when held up like a pair of binoculars displayed a slide show of photographs. It was just like one Dudley had had as a kid; Harry would sneak away with it sometimes to pretend he was standing in the French Alps or on the Cliffs of Dover. Harry grinned as he cycled through a series of landscape scenes: the Hogwarts grounds sprouting with spring greenery, an aerial view of the nearby mountains, the Black Lake with a lazy tentacle waving above the surface.

Suddenly he shouted, throwing the viewfinder away. The screaming face of a banshee had appeared pressed against the lens of the viewfinder. George howled with laughter, and even Molly chuckled heartily once Harry had begun to laugh and she realized he wasn’t traumatized. George made sure to pick up his new product and dust it off before everyone arrived. As the others apparated into the yard, Harry turned to George and mimed locking his mouth shut. He didn’t want to ruin the fun- moments when George seemed truly himself had been rare since May.

Harry happily accepted the smothering of Hermione’s hair as she wrapped him in a tight hug, stumbled when Ron gave him a solid clap on the back, and greeted Ginny with a kiss. Though he loathed to admit it, it had been difficult for Harry to feel connected with Ginny, Ron and Hermione through letters. They all wrote one another back and forth at least twice a week and Harry typically steered the conversation towards what was happening at Hogwarts, how his friends were, and what they were learning for their NEWTS. Whatever he wrote about himself was half-truth, or lying by omission. Though he felt guilty about it, he was certain he felt quite a lot more guilty about other things. Like how they would feel if they knew he really wasn’t all that happy on the whole. Or that he’d somehow willingly spent the last two weeks with Draco Malfoy.

They’d had a big family dinner on Friday evening with all the Weasleys. While others trickled away to their own beds or flats, Ginny, Ron, Hermione, and Harry had lounged by the fire with butterbeers into the early morning. Harry kept quiet, content to soak in the company of his friends. There were plenty of tales from the first months at Hogwarts to keep the conversation going, and when it began to dwindle Ginny had made a game of guessing how everyone would be dressed for the party.

After all the months of war and loss and slow, dragging efforts to recuperate, tonight- Halloween- was for them. It was for them to celebrate their magic, their family and friends, now that there had been time for grieving. There was still an edge of sadness, which they each acknowledged in their way. Harry pressed an extra firm kiss to Molly’s cheek and gave everyone else an enthusiastic hug. Ron was about three times more useful in setting up than he’d ever been before. Ginny stepped up to rib on George in a way no one else was brave enough to. Oscar delighted the crowd, making sure to introduce himself to each person, and singing little tunes to snag himself treats from anyone who had even the slightest bit of a soft heart.

By the time guests outside of the family arrived, there was an atmosphere of cheer and mischief. Harry snuck up behind Ginny to wrap his arms around her. “You make a very pretty Veela, but I like you better as yourself,” he murmured.

She twisted to grin at him. Hair charmed a platinum colour waved down her back, her skin was dusted with a luminescent powder and she wore a flowing white gown. Fleur had nearly keeled over with laughter and insisted that Bill take a picture of her with her “freckly seester.”

“You cut a very dashing Godric, Harry,” she replied, eyes glittering. He had spent far too much money on the costume- tights, a rich red tunic trimmed with gold, and a velvet cape. A tin sword and replica sorting hat completed the look. He’d even borrowed a large dollop of Hermione’s Sleekeazy’s to style his hair smoothly.

In a corner of the living room Hermione and Ron- King Arthur and the Lady of the Lake, were dancing to the radio without a care that they were the only ones doing so. Ginny gave Harry a quick peck, then wove across the room to speak with George and Charlie. Harry, catching sight of Kingsley in a gem-encrusted version of his traditional West African garb, headed over to speak with the Minister.

“Good Samhain, Harry,” the man greeted pleasantly.

“Minister,” Harry nodded. “How are things?”

With a half shrug, Kingsley replied, “As good as can be expected, I suppose. The trials are nearly at an end. The DMLE is just about up to three quarters its pre-war capacity, which is more than I’d hoped for. Are you joining us in January, Harry?”

“Maybe next year,” Harry grinned ruefully, expecting Kingsley’s reply.

With a heavy sigh, he said, “Why did you opt out of returning to Hogwarts to _not_ develop your talents and become an invaluable resource to my government, Harry?”

“Are you saying I haven’t earned a break?” Harry teased, knowing full well this wasn’t the case at all. “Actually, I am wondering how the dementor problem’s been going?”

With his steady, serious gaze Kingsley assured, “Well, Harry. We’ve relocated six back to Azkaban so far, and don’t believe there’s many more that need to be removed from the city.”

“That’s great,” Harry answered, relieved. “Are there any plans to try and destroy them, altogether?”

Malfoy was right. If the Ministry intended to discontinue the use of dementors as guards, they would need to destroy them.

“Harry, the experts we’ve gathered all agree- that is not possible. We’re looking into building an inland prison to house convicts… We will abandon Azkaban to the dementors.”

Harry thanked the Minister as Percy pulled him away to discuss a concern of international importance, entirely ignoring his mother’s scolding that tonight was not a night for work matters.

Shortly before midnight, the youngest of their party headed to Diagon Alley, where George intended to set off a series of fireworks to promote the shop. The Alley was positively bursting with people laughing and screaming with delight. A group that Harry recognized as having been a few years ahead of them at Hogwarts belted out a Weird Sister’s song. Someone had let loose a flock of pixies, which were pulling tufts out of a towering pouffe wig. The witch underneath it wove back and forth as she batted at them. Hermione cast a subtle _immobilus _charm at them and Oscar, who’d been flying joyfully above the street dove into the cluster of them, sending their paralyzed bodies rolling away in the sky. Harry whistled sharply to recall him; letting Oscar snack on the beings when they were unable to defend themselves felt too unfair.

As Oscar settled on Harry’s shoulder Ginny, who was tucked tightly beneath Harry’s other arm, exclaimed, “Wow… take a look at Malfoy.”

“He does look rather impressive, doesn’t he?” Luna- a Faerie- stood on Ginny’s other side.

Across the street, Malfoy walked next to an Asian witch dressed as a black cat. He donned a slim tailored suit that looked as though it were made of liquid mercury. The perimeters of his eyes were lined with shimmering pewter, emphasizing their grey shade. His hair was sleeked back neatly, in a manner that Harry hadn’t seen since Hogwarts. Malfoy’s eyes briefly caught on his own, and Harry quickly looked away.

Oscar took off from Harry’s shoulder with an excited hoot, and Harry felt his stomach drop. The damned bird was going to head straight to Malfoy and give them away. Not that it was a proper secret, his work with Malfoy. It was just… maybe better that no one else know about it, at present. Harry kept his attention on the ostentatious front of Weasley Wizard Wheezes and their group continued to head that way. Ginny and Luna had moved on in conversation.

When Harry chanced a glance back, Malfoy was looking at the street below his feet. He startled a little when Oscar landed on his shoulder. A fleeting smile crossed his face and he ruffled the birds feathers before shooing him off. Malfoy didn’t look towards Harry as Pansy Parkinson stared at him with bemusement, asking a question Harry couldn’t hear. Probably something along the lines of ‘_why has this random owl just treated you like its favourite landing post?’_

A crowd of people wove between them, and Parkinson and Malfoy continued on in the opposite direction to Harry. Which was, obviously, for the best.

Harry hadn’t told anyone about spending time with Malfoy because they would all completely go mad if he did. Because Harry himself must be mental to be trusting Malfoy at all. Ron, who seemed not to have noticed Oscar’s discretion but clearly wasn’t as ready to move on from the topic of Malfoy as Ginny and Luna had been, muttered darkly about what a wanker Malfoy was.

And he was, too. Harry could hardly argue with that. Malfoy’d thrown the word _mudblood_ at Hermione like a weapon when they were _twelve_. Looked down his arrogant little nose at Ron from the moment they met. He’d pursued a series of poorly planned assassination attempts that led to both Ron and Katie Bell being grievously injured, as well as Bill being attacked by Greyback and Dumbledore’s death, even if he hadn’t been the one to perform the actual curse. He’d tried to torture Harry. He’d willingly marked his skin to declare loyalty to the psychopath who wanted nothing but to kill Harry throughout his entire childhood. After that first near slip, Malfoy had been agonizingly cautious about protecting his left arm from Harry’s sight.

In the excitement of having a task, a mystery to solve, a problem to fix, Harry had sort of forgotten all of the very good reasons to avoid Malfoy. He was at best a terror, at worst at least partway evil himself. Harry thought he’d just felt guilty about keeping a secret from his friends, from Ginny. But actually, he realized, he felt guilty for spending time with Malfoy. So, he decided, he would stop. Kingsley had the dementors under control. And he’d confirmed that Malfoy’s plan to destroy them was futile.

At their next meeting Harry would tell Malfoy he was done.

They arrived at the front step of Weasley Wizard Wheezes, and George popped inside to retrieve a large bundle. He unwrapped the pile of fireworks and lifted his wand, a flame springing into life at its tip. With its shadows flickering across his face, taking a wide-legged stance and sporting a wicked grin, he played the devil he was dressed as perfectly. He counted down in an ominous tone, and they all backed away before the fireworks burst into the sky.

Sparkling purple witches zipping around on brooms, silver and orange bats, and blue lightening exploded above the Alley. Everyone up and down the road fell silent, staring up. Oscar let out a series of enchanting hoots to emphasize the magic of it all.

George strutted into the street, “Just a taste of the magic and wonders available at Weasley Wizard Wheezes! Come by during business hours- myself and my colleagues will be delighted to make your every dream or dastardly plan for mischief-making come true!”

He was met with applause and wolf-whistles, and bowed dramatically before returning to their group. Harry beamed at George. Typically, when Harry helped George out around the shop the two of them worked in companionable silence. George needed to save his energy for when the customers were around. Harry wasn’t keen on being too chatty, lately, either. Just as they relied on one another to buffer Molly’s anxiety, they took comfort in not needing to put on a face in front of each other.

Rolling her eyes at her brother’s grandiose advertising techniques, Ginny turned to Harry and, giddy with the excitement of the night, pushed him up against the wall at his back to kiss him enthusiastically. Her brothers made gagging noises.

Harry pulled back and gave her an apologetic look, “Not in public, Gin. I don’t want us to end up in the prophet.”

She nodded and Harry could tell she was trying her best to look understanding, though she didn’t quite hit the mark.

\---

On November the first, Harry woke up late and got himself a bowl of cereal before settling in front of the television and turning on the news. He’d opted out of spending the night with at the Burrow to say goodbye to everyone headed back to Hogwarts in the morning. Ron had complained about how unfair it was that McGonagall hadn’t allowed them to stay out until Monday morning, until Hermione- with a rather McGonagall-esque look- reminded him that there was a practical Astronomy session booked for Sunday evening. Ginny had looked a bit disappointed as Harry bade them goodbye, but he claimed he had a wicked headache and needed a full nights rest. Really, once the high of Halloween had worn off, he just wanted to spend the next two days in bed by himself doing a great amount of nothing.

Two minutes into the news, his heart clenched. “Fuck.”

Setting his bowl of cereal on the floor, Harry rushed to the perch where Oscar lay sleeping. “Up, up!” he commanded as he grabbed a post it note and scrawled _come over now, urgent -H_ with a ballpoint pen. “Take this to Malfoy,” Harry told his disgruntled owl, who hooted towards the closed window. Harry flicked his wand at the window then went back to the tv, flipping channels to find one that might still be covering the story he’d seen.

Within five minutes a knock sounded on the door. Harry pulled it open to see a fatigued looking Malfoy, who still had a smudge of silver under his left eye. Oscar was sat on his shoulder looking smug. Harry might have been inclined to mock Malfoy about the picture they made, if there weren’t more important matters at hand. Stepping back, he ushered Draco to sit on the couch.

“Fuck, Potter,” Malfoy withdrew his sopping foot from Harry’s cereal bowl.

“Oh. Sorry, Malfoy.” Harry said distractedly. “But it doesn’t matter, look at the news!”

Malfoy followed Harry’s dramatic arm gesture to the screen. “Fuck.”

A tearful woman, held by a stoic man, spoke to the cameras, pleading for information that might help the doctors treat their child. A five year old girl had been out trick or treating, when very suddenly she had had what seemed to have been a seizure, and fallen into a state of catatonia. Strangely, her muscles had frozen her in an upright position for several, long seconds, before she had fallen to the ground. The authorities suspected she must have ingested the mysterious drug they have been attempting to track. Perhaps it had been mixed amongst her candy.

“A dementor must have been holding her up as he gave her the kiss,” Malfoy said numbly.

“Kingsley told me they had it under control yesterday. They’d sent six back to Azkaban.” Harry’s rage was about to boil over. “A five year old MUGGLE, Malfoy! She was dressed as a bloody princess!”

Malfoy was livid too, Harry could tell. A muscle jumped near his jaw. “Go change out of your pajamas, Potter.”

Harry glanced down at himself, plaid pajama bottoms and a stretched out vest that hung loosely off his frame. Not how he’d ever have wanted Malfoy to see him. Malfoy was, as usual during his visits with Harry, in muggle business wear. “Right,” Harry answered. “Well you’d best scrub the rest of your makeup off, then.”

When Harry emerged from his room, wearing jeans and a hoodie, Malfoy looked up from cleaning the cereal mess to give him a withering look and instruct him to return dressed in something that a muggle professional might wear. Once he was in his only pair of dress pants and shirt- Hermione had helped him purchase the set to wear along with a pair of dress robes for funerals back in June- Draco handed him an identification card.

“Does that look like something someone from the National Health Service might carry?”

“Uh.. sure?”

“Good.” Draco said, looking satisfied. “We are going to go ask those poor people some questions. And then we are going to begin tracking dementors.”

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A second chapter tonight, to make up for my delays! Hopefully I will manage the next update a week from now.   
Any comments or constructive feedback are most welcome!


	8. Part 2; Chapter 8- Investigations

Part 2

If you're cold, go inside, if you're tired,  
Go to sleep, if you're weak, come to me  
And find shameful company

-Shameful Company, Rainbow Kitten Surprise

After a brief argument with Oscar, in which Malfoy (who was much more confident in taking a strict tone) had to back Harry up, Harry and Malfoy apparated out of the flat. They arrived at a nearby apparition point and walked the remaining distance to the Children’s Hospital. Draco, all charm and self-possession, talked the woman at the help desk into directing them to the young girl's room. The staff desk was surrounded with reporters asking questions of a frantic young nurse. A middle aged woman in scrubs came out and snapped at the reporters, threatening to call security and have the lot of them dragged out, their notepads thrown in the shredder.

Harry and Malfoy ducked past, finding room 214. Harry cast a quick spell to deter others from coming towards them before knocking softly on the door. The father, looking weary, opened it.

“Mr. Sullivan?” Malfoy asked in an empathetic tone. He showed the man his forged identification card and introduced them as Carter and Scully. On cue, Harry gave his most official nod before Malfoy continued. “We’re with Population Health at the National Health Service. Terribly sorry to take you away from your daughter’s bedside, but we need to ask you and your wife a few questions for our investigation into what happened to Neha.”

“Oh- of, of course,” he said, turning back to call out, “Darsha.”

His wife joined him at the door, a grey tinge to her brown skin. Draco repeated his apologies and introductions, explaining that while the incident may have been due to a new street drug, it might also be an infectious disease, and they needed a full picture of the events. No detail was unimportant.

“It- it was so quick,” Darsha said sorrowfully, her husband holding tight to her hand. “Tim wasn’t with us, just me and Neha. Neha was excited and bubbly. Full of energy. We turned down a street that was a little quieter, darker somehow. Even colder, but that’s probably just how I remember it after what happened. Anyways, I- I was about to call her back, tell her we’d go the other way. None of the houses had their porch lights on, so I didn’t think there’d be anyone to hand out candy. But she tensed up, frozen in place. She let out that little whine like she does right before she’s about to cry. The seizure… it almost looked like her face was drawn upwards as she stood there all tense and… then she collapsed. Her eyes were open but she couldn’t respond to me.”

Once Darsha had begun, the story came tumbling rapidly out. Malfoy’s eyes flicked over to Harry’s.

“When I screamed, other people came. A man dressed as…as a wizard, I guess, ran up and brought a torch with him, he helped me call for an ambulance. I know the doctors said maybe the drug might’ve been in her candy, but she hadn’t _had_ any yet. It doesn’t make sense. That’s all I can think of. I’m sorry I know it’s not helpful. Before last night, though, she’d shown no signs of being ill. Hadn’t spent time with anyone ill, either.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Sullivan. Could you please write down an approximate address of where you were when the seizure occurred? Just to confirm,” Malfoy said, handing her a notepad. “Your statement is very useful, and we will do our absolute best to help your daughter.”

Tim Sullivan shook their hands, and Harry and Malfoy walked silently from the hospital.

Out in the bustle of the street, Harry said, “Must have been a Ministry wizard. He was too late.”

“Where could we buy a map of London?” Draco replied.

\---

A muggle book and stationary shop provided everything they needed: Map and multicoloured pins. They apparated back to Malfoy’s flat and Malfoy shoved a couch out of the way to hang the map on the empty expanse of wall behind it.

“Little sparse in here, isn’t it Malfoy? Don’t you want some photographs? Or art?”

Malfoy glanced disparagingly over his shoulder, “It’s not as if I actually live here, Potter. I’m at the Manor mostly.”

Rolling his eyes, Harry stepped up to stick pins into the map. A red one where Neha was attacked. A blue one for where he was attacked with Malfoy, a few blocks south-east of his flat- between his home and Diagon Alley. Another blue one for the time that he had been attacked in St. James’s park, west of his flat.

“Potter, is the ministry keeping track of where these attacks against muggles occur?”

Harry shrugged, “I think so?”

“Wonderful.” Malfoy smiled tightly. “You’re going to go use your Boy-Saviour pull to get us a copy of any files they have.”

“Er…” Harry pulled a face. He strongly disliked having to do anything of the sort. In his horror on seeing the news this morning, he’d forgotten all about his intention to end this strange pseudo-working relationship he’d begun with Malfoy. It didn’t matter, though. After the seamless and empathetic way that Malfoy had handled speaking with Neha’s parents and organized a plan of action, Harry was quite sure he _didn’t_ want to give up on the dementor problem. “Alright.”

“Great,” Malfoy’s smile was less tense, this time. He pulled out his pocket watch and his smile faltered. “I- I’ve got to go see my father. Potter- you’ll get those files, yeah? And we can meet here tomorrow evening?”

Harry nodded. He was surprised when Malfoy apparated away, leaving Harry unsupervised in his flat. For a moment, he was tempted to poke around. A guilty conscience, though, told him to clear off. Harry realized he’d grown to trust Malfoy a little, at least. And he didn’t find himself inclined to break Malfoy’s trust in turn.

\---

Relief flooded Harry when the man sitting at the front desk of the DMLE office directed him to Dedalus Diggle. He would hardly have to put any pressure on Diggle to get what he wanted. The man was just as excitable as ever, greeting Harry with a face-splitting grin and doffing his neon green hat.

“Wonderful to see you,” Harry said truthfully. “How is rebuilding your house going?”

“Oh couldn’t be better. You know, I wanted to make some expansions anyways.” Diggle’s house had been blown up the night of the Ministry collapse the year prior. Thankfully, Diggle had been protecting the Dursleys and came to no harm himself. “How are your aunt and uncle, and precious Dudley doing?”

While Dudley had grown on Harry in recent months, he thought it was rather a stretch to call him precious.

“Alright. I haven’t spoken much to my aunt or uncle. They’re still not the most understanding of people. But I did have Dudley over to my flat for pizza in September. He’s going to train as a mechanic, you know, working with muggle cars and machines.”

After the war, when the Dursleys were able to come out of hiding, Harry had been there to greet them. Out of pure obligation he felt he ought to lay eyes on them one last time, make sure they were relatively unscathed as they settled back into Privet Drive. Dudley had slapped him on the shoulder and professed that he was happy Harry was alright. After that Ginny, Hermione, and Mrs. Weasley had campaigned for him to make some sort of an effort with Dudley. So Harry had sent him a note through the post- regular, of course- with Harry’s new phone number and an invitation to supper.

It had actually been riotous fun. Harry told Dudley all the stories from Hogwarts that he had never been allowed to and Dudley listened with wide-eyed rapture. He’d begged Harry to show him his patronus again, which Harry did. Harry’d been lucky- or, perhaps, coasting on his ‘Boy-Saviour’ privilege- to get a special licence for practicing magic in muggle areas, given that he lived in a building full of them, and couldn’t get by without it.

“Well good for him, not a bad lad, that Dudley. Shame about his parents.”

“Anyways, Dedalus… I’ve got a question for you. I was speaking with Kingsley about the dementors. I’m wondering if I could snatch a copy of your files on the muggle attacks for reference?”

Diggle didn’t even hesitate. He pulled out a drawer from his desk and fished out a large folder, tapping it with his wand so an identical one sprang to life next to it. “Here you go, my boy. Proudfoot and Ferrano are out on a related investigation today. A poor young muggle girl was attacked you know. Terrible, terrible.” Diggle shook his head sadly, before brightening a little to say, “Let me know if you need anything else, Harry.”

Harry picked up the folder and waved it at Diggle, “Thank you! I hope you have a great weekend.”

“No worries at all. And it will be! Weekend shifts are always good for some excitement.”

Luck left Harry without company in the elevator so he flipped the folder open and scanned the face sheet. Eight muggles had been kissed. _Eight_. And there were over one-hundred recorded confirmed or suspected sightings throughout London since the Ministry began to track them in mid-July. Harry flipped the folder shut as the doors opened and he headed straight for the apparition point.

He landed in Malfoy’s living room and set to work. First, he added a red pin for each of the additional seven muggles who had lost their souls to the dementors. Reading each of their bios, Harry found it hard to believe that the muggle authorities were passing this off as drug related. There was an elderly couple, Janice and Bill. A teenaged boy who, Harry supposed, actually _was_ the typical demographic for experimentation with substances. The two friends in their thirties who were at a music festival might be as well. The woman completing her doctoral degree in microbiology and the stay-at-home dad, not so much. Statements from the witnesses and loved ones corroborated that victims didn’t use drugs, or if they did, they were well informed and cautious about it.

Halfway through putting in white pins for suspected muggle run-ins, and blue ones for confirmed wizard sightings, Harry heard the crack of Malfoy apparating into the flat. Immediately followed by his yelp of surprise.

“Sorry,” Harry said, without looking away from the map. “I got the files and I _needed_ to come update the map. I wasn’t even sure you’d be coming back here, so…”

“Potter.” Malfoy’s voice sounded wrong. Strangled. Not exasperated, like Harry had expected.

Harry turned to look at him with concern. Malfoy’s lips were pressed tight and his eyes were swimming with tears.

“Please leave.”

Letting things go was not amongst Harry’s strengths. “Let’s go for a walk at St. James’s,” He suggested. “There’s an apparition point nearby and it’s the perfect temperature to freeze the grief right out of you.”

Malfoy rubbed at his face, “Are you mental, Potter? I said _leave_. I come back here to regain composure before I have to see my mother. Go. Away.”

Harry held his hand out for Malfoy and waited in tense silence. He was being rude, he knew. And certainly out of bounds. After a moment Malfoy rolled his eyes and placed his hand in Harry’s.

They walked briskly through the chill air and large trees of the park for close to an hour before the silence was broken.

“I strongly dislike that you have seen me… less than composed…at all, Potter. Let alone twice in recent times.”

Harry took the risk with a highly insensitive joke, “And that one time with Moaning Myrtle.”

Malfoy, without sparing Harry a glance, reached out and shoved him off the path, only laughing when Harry had to windmill his arms to keep from falling. “It’s not fair, Potter.”

“What?” Harry asked after regaining his balance. He shifted his eyes to the side to sneak a look at Malfoy walking alongside him.

“That you’ve seen me like that so many times, when for years I wanted nothing more than to put up an impressive front. And you’re just-” Malfoy waved his hand at Harry.

“Well I’m not sure what that means,” Harry said. “But keep forcing me to work with you on this insane project and it’s only a matter of time before you see me properly lose it over something. Anyways I told you about how I react when the dementors attack me, and my sad childhood locked in a cupboard.”

“That’s not the same,” Malfoy protested. “You were perfectly calm about it all.”

“Only because those are things I’ve already processed and dealt with, for the most part.”

They fell back into silence, a deeper chill descending along with the misty early evening. Eventually, Harry said, “I don’t talk about the war. Hermione wants me to see a counsellor. I have a hard time imagining that there might be a counsellor out there who could possibly provide useful suggestions for how to handle dying and returning to life. Or that dozens of people died _for_ _me_.”

Malfoy stopped his in tracks, eyes bugging out. “You _died_?”

“Oh, fuck,” Harry who had taken several more steps before realizing Malfoy had stopped, ran a frazzled hand through his hair. “I didn’t really think before I said that. Don’t tell anyone, alright?”

Harry looked around, reassuring himself that the closest muggles were too far down the path to have overheard. The park was quiet today, and with the trees towering above them into the grey sky and the water to their left lapping softly against the bank, Harry felt rather protected from wizarding society.

“I mean,” Malfoy began to prattle, “I know he _tried,_ my mother told me that part of the story. But you actually _died_?”

“Sort of? I could either have chosen to move on or come back. I came back?”

Malfoy shook his head, “Mental. You say it like it’s a bloody question. Like you’re not sure.”

“Sometimes… Never mind,” Harry shook the thought from his head. “Anyways. I had to die- a part of his soul was lodged in me all this time and he couldn’t die while that stuck around, turns out. Fucked, isn’t it? Between that, and all the stuff with my muggle family… I don’t know if I can have a normal, happy life.”

“Potter…” Malfoy said softly, stepping towards Harry. “You can cast a brilliant patronus. You’re perfectly capable of being happy.” Harry shrugged and Draco elbowed him in the ribs, “Now normal… unfortunately you’ve a poor prognosis on that front, Potter.”

Harry chuckled and they walked companionably back towards the apparition point.

“I don’t understand how you can be so open like that. Are you always that way? It’s not as though we’re proper friends,” Malfoy inquired.

“I’m not that open. Not about everything,” Harry disagreed. “But sometimes it’s like… Like laying down and having dirt shoveled on me. All the shitty things. Like it’s weighing me down and if I take a deep breath it will fill up my lungs with grit. Talking about it- the parts I can bring myself to talk about, anyhow- it takes a layer of weight off.”

And perhaps, Harry reflected, Malfoy was actually a bit easier to talk to about it all than Hermione, Ron or Ginny would be. He had a feeling if he repeated any of what he said to them, it would be turned into something of a crisis.

Malfoy simply gave Harry a thoughtful hum, rubbing his arms against the chill.

“It’s cold,” Harry said, only now feeling that the cold was becoming unpleasant. They’d found their way back to the apparition point, which had muggle repelling charms on it. “Go home, Malfoy. Have dinner with your mum.”

“Goodnight, Potter. See you tomorrow evening?” Malfoy raised a brow that said this was less a question and more a demand.

Harry nodded, and watched as Malfoy apparated away. He turned to walk home, to his warm flat filled with pictures of people he loved and happy memories that pushed away the darker ones. He wondered if Malfoy felt the same way about his own home.

\---


	9. The Downsides to being Centre of the Universe

“Potter…” Malfoy murmured thoughtfully.

Harry grunted in response, glancing up from the notes he was hunched over on the floor of Malfoy’s flat. Draco’s eyebrows were pinched and he looked unsettled as he studied the map with its network of pins.

“Notice anything about the pattern of these pins?”

“There’s an unacceptable amount. I know, Malfoy. You don’t need to convince me the Ministry doesn’t have a grip on it all anymore.”

After Harry and Malfoy had parted ways the prior day, Harry had once again headed to the Ministry to have a conversation with Kingsley. On the way there, he had seriously considered telling Hermione about everything he’d learnt and letting her loose on the man. He bet she’d send off a series of Howler’s and then go MIA from her NEWT courses to come and scream at him in person. When Harry arrived at his office though, it was seven o’clock on a Sunday evening and Kingsley was buried deep in a pile of paperwork that looked like it would keep him into the small hours of the morning. So Harry had settled for yelling a little himself, then left a chocolate bar behind for Kingsley to snack on. The Minister was just as distressed as Harry was about the incident with Neha, after all. And he’d signed off on the task force being even further bolstered first thing that morning.

“Not that,” Malfoy turned to glare down at Harry with exasperation.

With a weary sigh, Harry pulled himself up and went to stand next to Malfoy. Flicking his wand, Malfoy summoned a lime green pin and stuck it where Harry’s flat was on the map.

“Oh.”

The red, blue and white pins marking recorded attacks so far radiated outwards from Harry’s flat. 

“Well… It’s just that I live close to Diagon. Makes sense they’re drawn more to the wizarding areas,” Harry ventured.

Malfoy folded his arms tightly and regarded Harry seriously. “As much as I’d love to discourage the notion you have that you’re the centre of the universe, Potter, the map seems pretty clear,” he waved his arm at the evidence. “You’re being targeted.”

An unpleasant feeling trickled through Harry. He may have experienced all sorts of horrors over the last few years, but dementors were unquestionably his biggest fear. Never mind that he was well equipped to deal with them. If the dementors were indeed policing the areas he frequented... that meant the muggles who’d been attacked were just in the way, convenient victims for the dementors. Because Harry chose to live in muggle London. He squashed down the flood of guilt that was rushing up his throat, choking him.

He was dealing with the problem. He and Malfoy. And if Harry had any luck for once, the dementors themselves wanted to harm him, rather than another maniacal dark wizard directing them to attack. He imagined the latter possibility would lead to more and more coordinated, and therefore dangerous attempts. Thankfully, it was quite possible, at least according to Malfoy after he’d snapped at Harry to stop silently brooding and voice his thoughts on the issue, that the dementors went after him because they resented the number of times Harry had successfully driven them off. 

“Right,” Malfoy said, all business, “We’re going to start patrolling the streets then.”

If the attack on poor, tiny, Neha hadn’t been enough to solidify Harry’s commitment to Malfoy’s mad plans to destroy the dementors, the realization that Harry was at the eye of the storm would have done it. The idea of patrolling assuaged some of his guilt about it all.

Harry and Malfoy started spending every afternoon together at Malfoy’s flat, mapping out dementor sightings and reviewing centuries of academia regarding the creatures. Their maps and scrawled notes had taken over the walls, leaving the place to look a bit like a serial killer’s obsessive shrine from one the crime shows that Aunt Petunia loved so much. Malfoy frequently left Harry alone in his flat when he needed to attend to errands or appointments. The number of those dwindled over the month, as Malfoy became more focused on dealing with the dementors. Every evening, Malfoy would head back to the family Manor to have dinner with his mother. They would meet again after dinner and monitor the streets of muggle London for dementors, with Oscar flying along above them.

The information from the files Diggle had given Harry allowed them to map out not only recorded attacks, but also the areas of muggle London that the Aurors were monitoring. Their files noted several attacks that were successfully prevented by the Auror team, however there were inevitable gaps in their capacity. The Auror files confirmed that most dementor sightings occurred in the late evening, and each night Harry and Malfoy would choose an area that the Aurors weren’t patrolling themselves. If Malfoy wanted to seek out dementors despite being very clearly anxious about his continued inability to produce a full patronus, well, so long as he continued to dedicate a portion of their afternoon to practicing the charm, Harry wasn’t going to argue with him.

Diggle helpfully began to send Harry weekly updates, now that he was aware of Harry’s interest in the case. It certainly made things easier. With access to the DMLE files, there was no need to interview any potential dementor victims to confirm that it was indeed dementors they’d been attacked by. On the other hand, Harry had rather enjoyed seeing Malfoy speak to the muggle couple in a way that was both highly capable and surprisingly compassionate.

On patrols, Malfoy would stalk silently next to Harry, wand slipped up his sleeve for ready access. Any attempts at conversation made by Harry were steadfastly ignored in favour of hypervigilant wide eyes and ears tilted to catch the first signs of rattling breaths. Harry, not a great fan of silence, would often play Mad-Eye’s voice barking _“Constant vigilance!” _in his mind. One of their first nights out, he’d been rather tempted to give Malfoy a good jump by shouting it out loud, but figured that was hardly likely to help them along their strange road to friendship.

It was only about every three or four days they’d actually run into a dementor, leaving Harry to mutter darkly about their incompetence as hunters if they were, in fact, after him. He remembered the plague of dementors around Hogwarts in their third year, when they’d been on the hunt for Sirius. They hadn’t been all that effective then either, but most of the time Sirius had been in his animagus form. They had no such excuse in their failure to cross paths with Harry.

Oscar acted as an efficient early warning system, screeching loudly when he noticed anything of concern approaching. Once, he’d saved Harry and Malfoy from walking into the middle of a drug deal.

When they did encounter dementors the creatures were sometimes alone, sometimes in pairs. The dementors generally moved slowly, creeping their way through quiet streets. But when they noticed Harry and Malfoy they would rush towards them, flying over the ground. Their skeletal hands would reach, grasping, from beneath their tattered sleeves and the sound of their rattling breath would freeze Harry’s own breath in his lungs. Harry would wait a few heart clenching beats, looking to Malfoy to see if he felt up to trying a patronus. Each time Draco would shake his head tersely and with wide eyes, urge Harry to get on with it already.

After Harry’s stag had dispatched the dementors, he would pull out a chocolate bar and insist that it was late enough that the usual dementor window was closing and most muggles were tucked safely away. They’d head back to Harry’s flat for some tea and a late meal whipped up by Harry, who found the process of cooking warming and calming after a night out with dementors. Malfoy would feed Oscar scraps of his meal. Harry was honestly surprised that Oscar didn’t try to go home with him at night.

Sometimes after eating they’d do more research, if Malfoy was feeling particularly zealous, but often they’d watch a film before Malfoy headed back to his own home for the night. Malfoy had taken a keen interest in any and all films; and while he always had an irritating amount of critiques, he had just as many questions about the ways of muggles, which Harry did his best to answer.

At the end of the night on the first Saturday after they’d begun meeting daily Malfoy hesitated at Harry’s door. He tugged the sleeves of his jacket anxiously before saying, “Tomorrow-”

“I know,” Harry nodded. “Don’t worry about it.”

“See you around eight for patrol though?”

Harry shrugged, “If you want. I could always manage on my own.”

Malfoy studied Harry intently for a moment. “No. That’s a terrible idea.”

“Alright, see you here at eight, then.”

When a knock sounded on his door at three o’clock Sunday afternoon Harry wasn’t as surprised as he was sure Malfoy would have liked for him to be. He mustered up an appropriately shocked face when he opened the door.

Malfoy stood there with red rimmed eyes and a pile of books in his arms.

“I decided I’m in the mood for some research,” Malfoy said with a one shouldered shrug as though it didn’t matter, really.

Harry bit back a grin. “If you’re going to insist that we do research, you have to agree to a walk in the park with me first. I was just about to go out for one and since all you do is screw up my plans the least you can do is buy me a hot chocolate.”

Appearing to struggle with this for a moment, Malfoy finally gave Harry a slight smile that said he knew exactly what Harry was up to. “Fine. Next week you buy, though.”

\---

“Alright, let’s go,” Harry insisted one day at half two.

During their afternoons of research, if Harry noticed Malfoy’s frustration levels rising as he feverishly flipped through old texts- his hand would twitch towards his left cuff link more frequently, he would yank his hair back into a ponytail, even though it wasn’t quite long enough to stay put in one, and, most obviously, he would begin to let out a series of little huffs- Harry would coax him into taking part of the afternoon off and heading to the park (he never bothered trying to convince Malfoy to take an evening patrol off). Since their first couple of Sunday walks, Harry had realized walking and talking was a wonderful technique to get to know Malfoy beyond the intensely focused man he was when engaging in their project.

Inevitably, when Harry proposed they take a break and get some fresh air, Malfoy would gripe about it being a waste of time and emphasize that he was not spending time with Harry for social fulfillment. Harry didn’t take insult, as he was now pretty certain that was indeed part of why both of them found themselves in each other’s company every day and that they _both_ knew it.

Malfoy was looking frazzled beyond frazzled at the moment, and it was time for a break. Harry firmly believed the combination of fresh air, a brisk pace and conversation would allow them to have better focus and work more effectively overall. And it was healing, really. 

“You,” Harry said trying his best to stay firm as he jabbed a finger Oscar’s way, “have to stay here. You can’t just hang around with us in muggle London in the middle of the day.”

As was always the case, Malfoy tossed Oscar a couple of nibbles from the bag of high-end treats he had begun to carry with him to mollify the bird, and grumbled his way out the door.

Once they settled into an amicable stroll through St James Park, he peered at Harry and asked, “What are you going to do?”

“Er…” Harry shot Malfoy a bemused look, before turning his attention back to the pathway just in time to dodge a toddler that wandered into his way. A watery sunlight warmed the park grounds and it was crowded with people out trying to enjoy the day. “About what, Malfoy?”

“You know, with your time, your future. Once we’re done this.”

Harry huffed out a laugh, “Given that you’ve embroiled me in this impossible undertaking I don’t think there is ever going to be a future beyond this.”

With a sliver of a smile, Malfoy said, “You’re being avoidant.”

Though Harry was on the receiving end of Malfoy’s smiles more and more often, it still felt a little like winning when it happened. Especially when it was just slight, almost reluctant like the one Malfoy had just given him.

“Well I don’t know, Malfoy. What are you going to do? Live off your family estate in frivolous luxury?”

A stab of guilt hit him as Draco winced. In honesty, Harry had gotten to know Malfoy better than that.

“No,” he replied drily. “Actually, I thought about joining Auror training, if they’d let me. And anyways Potter, I know you’ve enough family money to do just the same, if you wanted.” That was, unfortunately, not untrue. And seven years later the thought still made Harry squirm with discomfort. “I also heard that the Minister is eager to have you join Auror training.”

Something in Malfoy’s tone confused Harry. Jealously? Hope? Either of those possibilities were ludicrous. Harry took a deep breath and a moment to focus on moving his feet forward.

“I don’t want to do _that_,” he confessed. “I’ve been putting Kingsley off. I’m not brave enough to just come out and tell him that there is nothing in this world that would entice me to become a god-forsaken Auror.”

Harry avoided meeting the eyes he felt burning into him. “Why ever not?”

“Why I am not brave enough?” Harry scoffed. He was pretty sure that wasn’t what Malfoy meant, but he didn’t correct Harry. After a moment, Harry said, “It’s rather a lot to live up to, is all.”

Laughter spilled into the space between them, quickly reaching a hysterical pitch. Harry’s face heated, and he sped up his pace, hoping to leave Malfoy far behind.

“Potter,” Malfoy choked out, running to catch up. “Potter, I’m sorry, really. But… are you telling me it is hard to live up to your _own_ legacy?”

Whirling around to glare at him, Harry shouted, “Yes! And I’m deadly serious so don’t be a prick.” An elderly woman eyed them with disapproval from a nearby bench. Harry turned back around and stomped off as he continued, “My whole life had been building up to that one day, Malfoy. I had _everyone_ counting on me. I spent most of the time with not a fucking clue what to do, knowing that. Knowing that everyone trusted me. _I_ sure as fuck didn’t trust me. And everything turned out alright, I suppose. Everyone will expect me to be this amazing, prodigy of an Auror. Someone who saves the world every time.”

Harry’s voice faltered, and Malfoy, who’d raced along beside Harry tugged on his arm, pulling him off the path and into the trees. There was a trace of understanding in his grey eyes.

“Harry,” Draco asked, “If you were just some normal bloke, would you want to be an Auror?”

This was not something Harry had ever actually taken the time to contemplate. He took a moment, then shook his head. The work he’d been doing with Malfoy had some parallels to Auror work, and he enjoyed those aspects well enough. But mostly, as appalled as Harry from two years previous would be, Harry of present just enjoyed spending time with Malfoy. It turned out, when his wicked wit wasn’t used maliciously, it was a riot. And Harry _had_ been bored, and a little lonely in the weeks between everyone returning to Hogwarts and Malfoy- there was no other word for it- _rescuing _Harry from the dementors.

“No. I- I mean, I’d like certain parts, I think. Solving mysteries. Helping people. But fighting?” Harry shook his head with more confidence this time. “No, I don’t want to spend any time fighting.”

“Well,” Malfoy shrugged, “You’ll be a prodigy at whatever you do, all on your own merit, Potter… Anyways, it’s better to peak early than absolutely fail at everything you ever wanted so soon in life.”

Draco’s tone titled upwards at the end of his statement, trying to twist his words into a sardonic joke. His eyes flicked away from Harry’s to the gnarled tree roots, before they returned to meet Harry’s gaze accompanied by a crooked smile.

“Malfoy,” Harry replied, “You are not a failure.”

With another shrug, Malfoy said, “I’m trying not to be. It turned out that what I was told were steps to success were very much the opposite.”

“You’d be a brilliant Auror, Malfoy.” When he shot Harry a look of derision, Harry continued adamantly, “Seriously. You look at a problem and figure out exactly what is important to know and the steps to take to deal with it. And you were amazing talking with Neha’s family.”

“Oh.” A blush tinged Malfoy’s pale face as his whole body tensed.

Rolling his eyes, Harry said, “Let’s grab some chips and head back to my flat for a movie before you have to go home for supper, yeah? My eyes will turn to dust if you make me look at another textbook today.”

“Alright,” Malfoy answered reluctantly, heading back to the path. A thought occurred to him and his whole face brightened, a smile spreading brilliantly. “Hey Potter? Can I be present when your future children are nervous about growing up in your shadow and you explain to them that you were terrified to live up to your _own legacy_?”

Harry scooped a fallen walnut off the path and chucked it at Malfoy’s head, beginning a fierce battle where any forest detritus made for projectiles as they chased one another through the park, back towards Harry’s flat.

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I missed a week, two chapters to make it up to you! Comments and feedback are most welcome :)


	10. Of Friends and Family

One night in mid-November Harry shook himself awake sobbing. As his nightmare faded into reality, panic took over. Where was he?

Malfoy gripped his shoulders, “Potter, it’s alright. You’re safe.”

Merlin. Harry looked past Malfoy and realized he was in the Diagon Alley flat. He was sitting on the floor, with his back against the couch and his legs tangled in a blanket. Malfoy crouched next to him. Calming, he recalled that after their sixth evening patrol with no dementor encounters, Malfoy had convinced him to come back to his flat for more research rather than Harry’s preferred option of a warm meal and a comedy film. They’d combed through _Darkest Arts and their Tools_ until their eyes were blurry.

Malfoy had taken one look at Harry and said, “You’re tired Potter. I doubt you could manage apparating,” tossed him a blanket, and instructed him to go to sleep on the couch before heading to bed himself.

“Fuck me,” Harry groaned, wiping at his face as his breathing slowed. “Sorry, Malfoy. I get nightmares. Pretty much every night. I should’ve just gone home.”

“It’s okay, Potter,” Malfoy replied with a look of concern. He still held onto one of Harry’s shoulders. “Want to, uh, talk about it?”

Harry shook his head, giving Malfoy a half-hearted smile. He’d dreamt about Hermione’s screams as Bellatrix tortured her in Malfoy’s home, and how hopeless he’d felt to do anything about it.

“Nah. All the guys in the Gryffindor dorms have woken to me screaming, before. It’s been a bit worse since the war, pretty much every night. I’ve even dreamt about you, before.” Malfoy flinched away from Harry. “Er, not where you’re the nightmare part,” Harry scrambled to reassure him. “Of the fire. Of reaching for you but not being able to get a grip.” _And of the way your blood spilled out when I was panicked and ignorant and cursed you after finding you in the middle of a breakdown._

“Oh.” Malfoy’s eyes widened a little and he rocked back on his heels. “Uhm, I’ll fix some tea, shall I?”

Harry tactfully did not comment on the fact that Malfoy had begun to keep his favourite tea on hand, and instead- back on the couch, with his legs tucked beneath him- accepted the cup gratefully. Oscar who’d been watching the scene from the arm of the couch, shuffled over to Harry’s side and tucked himself against Harry with his head under his wing.

Malfoy sat next to him and said, “You scared the piss out of me, Potter.”

With a heavy sigh, Harry apologized again. Malfoy rolled his eyes. “You don’t need to apologize. Why do you rub at your scar like that? Does it hurt?”

“No,” Harry answered. He hadn’t realized he was doing it. “It’s just habit, now. It used to hurt. A lot of the nightmares I used to have were actually… well, accidental legilimency into Voldemort’s mind. It hurt then. Like hell.”

Malfoy whistled lowly, “that’s… mad.”

“I know.”

“Fancy a game of chess?” Malfoy asked after a few beats of silence, adding with a devious grin, “I’ll thrash you.”

Harry nodded tiredly, “Yes. And I know you will.”

By the time Malfoy had taken nearly all of Harry’s pieces and sat across the table with a satisfied smirk, a worry that had begun to sprout within Harry over the last weeks had worked its way up to the surface of his mind.

“Malfoy,” he asked, “do your friends know we’re working together?”

Oscar, seemingly for the fun of it as he’d already done it twice, swooped in and flew away with Malfoy’s Queen. By the time Malfoy had retrieved it he was out of breath and through gasps he directed his Bishop to take out Harry’s last standing Knight. Harry figured he must’ve forgotten the question and was grateful for the chance to take it back.

Then Malfoy looked at Harry directly, and said, “I don’t really have friends, Potter. I have Pansy, I guess. And she’s at Hogwarts. But no, she doesn’t know.”

“Oh.” Harry said. Feeling rather stupid, he inquired, “Are we friends?”

A soft smile played around Malfoy’s lips, which Harry pretended not to notice as he struggled to find a move that wouldn’t lead his black pieces into dire straits.

“I suppose. If you want to be, that is.”

At half three in the middle of the night, Harry’s inhibitions were lowered. Otherwise he wouldn’t have asked those questions to begin with. But here he was, so may as well be honest. It was time to bite the bullet- they _were_ friends, regardless of what either of them called it.

“Yeah,” he nodded, “I do.”

“Check,” Malfoy announced triumphantly. “Do your friends know?”

Harry managed to save his King for one more turn. “No.”

He met Malfoy’s eyes contritely. Malfoy shrugged. Harry wasn’t sure what he felt more guilt about- being friends with a man who had made his own and his friends’ lives miserable for years, being friends with a former Death Eater, hiding said friendship from his best friends, or the way that Harry hiding their fledgling friendship must make Malfoy feel, despite the look of understanding he was giving Harry.

“Check-mate,” Malfoy gave Harry a rueful grin, waving his wand to pack away the set. “Go back to sleep, Potter. You look like a like an extra from _Night of the Living Dead_.”

\---

Harry spent the next morning at Weasley Wizard’s Wheezes. He and Oscar had apparated home so Harry could have a quick shower and change his clothes and showed up a little later than he had promised George. Harry let himself in with his key and locked the shop door behind him. The front room was a riot of colours that assaulted Harry’s tired eyes. The previous night had been especially sleepless. Heading straight for the back room, Harry found George sitting amidst a squiggling pile of pygmy puffs.

“Get him outta here!” George exclaimed eyeing Oscar reproachfully.

Oscar _was_ clicking his beak excitedly next to Harry’s ear. With a sigh Harry headed back to the front room to find a scrap of paper and a quill. In colour changing ink he scrawled a plea to Malfoy and sent Oscar off to bug him for the morning. Oscar looked forlornly to the back room before taking off down the alley.

“Not as though you aren’t the most spoilt owl in all of history you gluttonous ingrate,” Harry muttered, heading back to George.

“I need to sex them,” George looked up to Harry apologetically as he re-entered the room. “I screwed it up last time and a bunch of them got knocked up. I’m going to have to put them on sale because I don’t have the space to keep them all.”

Regarding the rainbow of fuzzy, chittering creatures surrounding George Harry burst out laughing. Each pygmy puff was, underneath all its fluff, really no bigger than a snitch. But their hair, in shades of pink, purple, blue and peach, extended several inches from their bodies.

“How do you tell under all the hair?”

“Well,” George said seriously, “that was my problem the first time round. The males have these tiny little balls and that’s how I checked last time. But I think underneath the fur I missed some.” At that, he was unable to maintain a straight face and his next sentence was mangled with laughter, “So I dug through some of our old notes and Fred had written up instructions for this potion that the breeders for the normal sized puffs used to test. I made up a batch, we just need to put a few drops on each of them and it will put off a foul smelling steam for a few seconds when you’ve got a male.”

“You know,” Harry said, plunking himself onto the ground with George, “I was really relieved that I wouldn’t be spending my morning looking for tiny balls right up until the very end there.”

George brought out the potion and some droppers and they set to work. After they’d found their first male and sorted him safely into a different pen, George ran back upstairs to the flat to get gas masks. The smell was so far beyond foul that the skin of their nostrils burned and tears streamed down their faces.

They soon established a steady working rhythm, Harry holding on to a squirming pygmy puff while George applied the potion, followed by sorting the puffs into their sex-based pens.

Studying Harry over his mask, George remarked, “You look even more shit than usual, today.”

Harry smiled ruefully, “Kind of you.”

“What’s the matter?”

“Rough sleep.”

“And?” Both of George’s red brows were raised expectantly. It reminded Harry of Molly.

“You ever…” Harry hesitated for just a moment, “been friends with someone that your other friends might not be so alright with?”

George considered this, tilting his head to the side as he squeezed a few drops of potion onto the blue puff Harry was holding. When steam siphoned off the creature, George said, “I dated Marcus Flint’s sister, for a bit. I reckon Oliver would have gone fully mad if he’d found out about it. He was so sure that Slytherin was trying to spy out our plays. Right around the final game of the season my fifth year, that was.”

Harry laughed, “Wood _was_ mad that year. We won though.”

“Yeah,” George said, voice full of nostalgia. “And Martha would’ve been worth it anyways. She gave me the idea for the Skiving Snackboxes, you know. Said the Slytherin girls would always get out of classes by complaining about their time of the month. And it’s just not fair that boys can’t do the same. So really, the Snackboxes are a step towards gender equity.”

A Slytherin sparking a WWW product idea made a lot of sense to Harry. George had once told Harry that he’d almost been sorted Slytherin himself but he, too, had begged the hat to put him in Gryffindor and keep him with his brother.

“So who are you friends with Harry?” George asked plainly.

“Draco Malfoy,” Harry muttered, embarrassed.

George shoved a female puff into her assigned pen with his brows once again raised high. “Huh.”

“Don’t tell Ron.”

“No, no, of course not. The back room of Weasley Wizard Wheezes is the Bermuda Triangle of conversations. Merlin knows I never would have told you about the sorting hat incident otherwise. Anyways,” George crossed his fingers, “Enchanted Explorers honour. But you’ve got to tell me more about how the fuck that happened.”

So Harry ended up telling George everything. Verity arrived shortly into his story to open the shop and George insisted she knock on the door to the back before entering at any point, explaining to Harry that his counsellor told him confidentiality was very important. When they ran out of pygmy puffs to test, they headed to George’s flat for a tea break and the end of Harry’s tale.

George shook his head in disbelief. “This is the best story I’ve heard in ages. Enemies to friends, bonding over the shared need to defeat the forces of the dark.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Harry rolled his eyes. “Anyways, everyone’ll be angry with me.”

“Maybe,” George hummed in thought. “For a bit. You know Ron. But I doubt they’ll stay that way. We’re all pretty ready to try and move on, don’t you think?”

Harry shrugged. He hadn’t expected to confess everything to George and he certainly hadn’t expected it would make him feel better about it all. It was coming up on noon, so he thanked George and apparated right into Draco’s flat.

Malfoy looked at Harry with his nose wrinkled in that snooty expression he used to walk around with all the time when they were younger. Irritation spiked through Harry before Oscar, who’d been walking along the counter towards him croaked and turned tail and Malfoy laughed joyfully.

“Potter, you smell truly foul. What on earth have you been doing?”

Harry looked down at himself and took a whiff. He did smell a bit; he must’ve become accustomed to it.

“Sorry, we were using some nasty potion to sex pygmy puffs.”

With his mouth twisting in amusement, Draco said, “Please go home and clean up before you make me sit next to you looking at textbooks all afternoon.”

“Pardon me Malfoy, but you are the reason we spend our afternoons looking at textbooks,” Harry replied sassily. Then, nonchalantly, “I told George, by the way. About us being friends.”

He apparated away to his flat before Malfoy had a chance to reply, feeling distinctly warmed by the look of pleased surprise on Draco’s face and storing it away with his particularly special memories.

\---

The two of them spent a Wednesday afternoon in late November at Grimmauld Place. Harry didn’t tell Draco, but he had chosen Wednesday to practice with the Boggart again because it was the furthest day of the week from when Draco saw his father. A solid break between the two activities couldn’t be anything but helpful, Harry figured. And it had been a few good days since they’d encountered any dementors on their patrols.

Harry waited through five solid minutes of pleasant small talk between Malfoy and Mrs. Black’s portrait, before they headed up to the room with the Boggart. Only, it had moved. Draco had gone through his breathing exercises and shook out his shoulders before Harry had opened the armoire door to very anticlimactic results. Kreacher was able to redirect them to the drawing room, where the boggart had moved into a cabinet after being so disturbed by Harry and Draco back in October. Harry recognized with dismay that it was the very cabinet in which the boggart that had driven Mrs. Weasley to break down had lived.

Immediately on entering the room, the sole remaining tapestry on the far wall drew Malfoy’s eye. He headed over, asking, “Is this what I think it is?”

_The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black_

_‘Toujours pur’_

“Yeah,” Harry answered, joining Malfoy in front of the immense, labyrinthian family tree. “You’re on there, actually. Sirius is not, his parents burnt him off. Had a values conflict.”

Draco shifted uneasily, “My aunt Andromeda’s not on here either.”

“No. Or Tonks. I don’t suppose you ever met them?” Draco shook his head. “You would’ve liked Tonks, I think. She had a wicked sense of humor. I’m godfather to her and Remus Lupin’s son, actually. He’s brilliant.”

“You are?” Draco turned away from the tapestry he’d been staring fixedly at to meet Harry’s eyes in surprise.

Harry nodded, “Teddy. He’s seven months. A metamorphmagus like his mum. I take him out to the park every week, give Andromeda a bit of a break. She’ll make me my favourite lasagna as a thanks.”

“When have you even had time for that lately? We’ve been working every day.”

“I’ve been going on Sundays, mostly” Harry shrugged. “You know, when you’re busy.”

Harry always made sure to be back to his flat by half past two, though. So he’d be around when Draco was done visiting his father.

Draco turned back to the tapestry and let out an “Oh,” that was so quiet Harry barely noticed. “Given you talk so incessantly about every inane detail of your life, Potter, I’m surprised that never came up.”

Truthfully, Harry had suspected the fact that he was godfather to an estranged member of Malfoy’s family might be a bit awkward, and he had actively restrained from telling funny stories about Teddy on several occasions.

After a moment trailing his fingers across the woven fabric, Draco said, “I think I might like to meet them. I never had aunts and uncles or cousins. Unless you count Bellatrix showing up when I was fifteen, which I’d rather not.”

Smiling, Harry said, “Andromeda would love to meet you. I’ve told her a bit about our work.”

“You have?” Draco whirled back to look at Harry so quickly he nearly lost his balance.

“Yeah,” Harry chuckled. “She’s pretty understanding. About, you know, things other people might not get.”

Perhaps Harry should have gotten over himself and his anxiety about talking about Teddy and Andromeda to Malfoy. He seemed rather interested, and Merlin knows Dromeda had nudged Harry to bring Draco over a few times now. 

“I’ll think about it,” Draco said stiffly, striving to regain his nonchalant demeanor.

It was always amusing, Harry thought, how Draco could be so excitable, so impassioned, yet only allow it to slip out for brief periods before tamping it down. He must be at constant war with himself. He was obsessive and meticulous, yet obviously felt safest when he seemed like he didn’t care at all.

With a shake of his head, Harry suggested they get to it.

Malfoy did much better with the dementor-impersonating boggart this time round, having gained confidence in his charm work over their weeks of practice. He was able to cast his usual semi-formed patronus three times before they called it quits and Kreacher brought them steaming mugs of hot chocolate.

\---


	11. Talismans for Triumph

One evening, a ways into December, Draco apparated into his flat, where Harry had been spending the afternoon reviewing their notes, looking like he’d just won the Quidditch Cup. He brandished a heavy, leather bound book at Harry. “I’ve finally tracked down _Talismans for Triumph_,” he announced.

“Great?” Harry stood from the dining table and stretched to the roof.

“It is great, Potter, because it is going to tell us exactly how to trap the dementors in enough power to destroy them. There’s one other text that I think will be useful in the long term, but it’s not necessary right now. Rutherford’s on it.”

“Rutherford?”

“Yes, the rare book curator I work with,” Malfoy said with a tone meant to make Harry feel stupid.

“Oh piss off, Malfoy,” Harry replied cheerfully. “Let’s get to work, shall we?”

Twenty minutes later they were faced off across the table. Both had jumped to their feet, Harry knocking his chair right over in the process.

“_You’re mental!_” he hollered, slamming his hands down flat against the table.

“You just don’t understand the theory behind it, Potter. If you did you wouldn’t have a second thought.”

“I’m not stupid, Malfoy!”

“Merlin, Potter,” Draco dragged an agitated hand through his hair, “I’m not saying you’re stupid. You were just off in some dank tent while I was learning about this exact thing in my NEWT level charms class!”

“Well then you’re arrogant enough to get yourself killed!”

“Rich coming from you. Remind me again which foolhardy group of Gryffindors nearly got themselves killed every year from age eleven onwards?”

Malfoy’s mocking tone might just drive Harry to violence. “Voldemort was trying to kill ME!”

Unexpectedly, Malfoy closed his eyes and began to take deep, steady breaths. The breaths that Harry had taught him to take before attempting to cast a patronus. If Harry weren’t so baffled by Malfoy’s stopping in the middle of a row to breathe, he might’ve hopped across the table and proceeded to beat some sense into him.

“Potter,” Malfoy opened his eyes to meet Harry’s calmly. “I can do this. I promise you. You’re always complaining about me being anal retentive. You think I would do something half baked? We will take time, we will plan. It _will_ work.”

“Okay,” Harry threw his hands up in surrender. “Fine.”

**\---**

“It’s vital that you remember to drive them _towards_ the talisman. Once they’re there, we can close in, flare the talisman and drive your patronus right at them. They’ll be trapped and the power will be too much for them to withstand.”

Malfoy looked to be tamping down sheer panic through the power of clear and firm direction. Harry had every reason to call Draco anal retentive; he was the type of person to need everything sorted and orderly. Ambiguity and the unexpected were not Draco’s friends.

“Malfoy,” Harry said in his most reassuring tone. “We’ve run through this enough times. We are ready. You think this plan will work, right?”

“Of course I do. I came up with it.”

“I trust you. It will work.”

Harry could see a seed of doubt in Draco’s nod of confirmation. Maybe it was that he couldn’t believe that Harry could trust him. Maybe it was because Harry had initially fought against this idea. Or maybe Draco didn’t trust in himself entirely. Regardless, Draco’s fierce determination had won over and if his friend was so confident in something, Harry really did trust him.

“Alright. Now,” Harry said, “Time to daydream happy thoughts of future times.”

They stood in an alleyway near Harry’s flat, figuring it was close to the centre of the attack pattern they’d mapped out. It was deserted at such a late hour. Oscar remained safely back at Harry’s flat, though the two of him had had to wrestle him into his cage as they’d been unable to convince, beg or bribe him to stay behind during a nighttime patrol. Harry felt a little guilty about it, but had no doubt it was the right choice. They were going to be messing with some pretty experimental and volatile magic. 

“Right then,” Malfoy nodded with more confidence. “Don’t do anything stupid, Potter.”

Harry beamed, “Wouldn’t dream of it. My daydreams are about much more pleasant things.”

Pretending to gag, Malfoy headed to a narrow pathway between two buildings, tucking himself away. Harry was backed against a stone wall, which he knew made Malfoy nervous. He wasn’t concerned. His patronus wouldn’t fail when he was ready to call it forth. Allowing his thoughts to drift towards what he might do with his future, Harry waited for the dementors to come sate their hunger. The thoughts were all rather vague, focused on feelings of belonging, of family. Truth was, Harry found he really didn’t have much will to think of the future, and very little sense of what he hoped it would hold. It would still be enough to draw in the dementors, he hoped. Harry wished he could see Draco better, but he’d be fine. Harry would sense a dementor early enough that they wouldn’t be able to sneak up on Draco.

The first sign was the light from the moon going out. It had been intermittently blocked by clouds throughout the hour or so that they waited, but the quality of the darkness this time was different, deeper. The sound of Draco catching his breath echoed down the sides of the brick buildings to Harry. A chill ran down his spine, as though melting ice was being held to the base of his skull. His own breath felt tight. Three of them appeared, shifting blacker against the black of night at the end of the alleyway.

They glided towards Harry until their rasping noises threatened to overcome them. Just a little closer, Harry thought. Then, he raised his wand.

Malfoy, who had crept out of his spot to stand behind them, raised his own wand, cast his silvery cloud to hover in the air at the dementors’ backs. They sucked at the air, angrily, and turned to charge at Harry. He cast his patronus and the stag charged.

Trapped between Harry and Draco, they turned to flee down the narrow pathway Draco had been hidden in. At its entry sat a disc, pulsing with silver magic. The dementors froze in place, uncertain what to do. Harry’s stag and Malfoy’s mist closed in, forcing them towards the talisman. As they reached the edge of its silver light, their cloaked heads turned back to the wizards. It was hard to tell, but Harry had the sense they would be glaring with resentment if they had proper eyes with which to do so.

Out of the corner of his eye Harry could see Malfoy raise his wand higher, sending a burst of power into the talisman, which flared brightly, momentarily blinding Harry.

“Oh no,” Draco said weakly, before Harry heard his body drop to the cobblestones.

Harry blinked rapidly, clearing his vision as the dementors hissed. Terror gripped him as through the darkness he could see the three creatures converge on Draco.

“NO!” he yelled. His patronus, reacting to his unspoken need, bound across the distance and drove them off of Draco’s body. It pursued them to the end of the alley, before circling back to stand guard over the fallen wizard. Harry, who had been idiotically frozen near the dead end of the alley, raced to them.

He dropped to his knees on the cobbles and, mumbling a string of profanities, pressed his hands to Draco’s face. He was unconscious, his face cold and covered with a sheen of sweat. Shifting his fingers to Draco’s neck he found, with immense relief, a pulse.

Looking to his patronus, he ordered, “Get Molly Weasley. Impart the message ‘Molly, meet me behind George’s shop. It’s an emergency. I need help healing someone.’”

Harry prayed that his patronus could make it. He felt drained himself, weak and anxious. Ideally, he would take Draco to St. Mungo’s. But they’d talked about this. The possibility that something might go wrong. And Draco had made it more than clear that Harry was not to be seen in public with him. No matter what. So Molly was their best option. She was talented at healing, despite not having formal schooling. And she was discrete. Harry ought to apparate Draco right to his own flat, then go to meet Molly, but he was shaking rather violently and felt the drag of the dementors. He wasn’t sure he’d have been able to leave the flat to find Molly once he’d made it there. If he were thinking straight, he would have pulled out the chocolate bar in his pocket and taken a bite first, but he wasn’t. So he slung Draco over his shoulder and apparated to the alleyway of Weasley Wizard Wheezes.

On arrival, Harry fell back against the brick wall. He slid down it, supporting Draco to prevent him from bashing his head. The only thought he was capable of forming was _please not have been kissed by them, please_.

Molly arrived within a minute of them. Her eyes widened for a fraction of a second, before she hopped into action. She pulled a pepper-up potion from the carpet bag she’d brought along and pressed it into Harry’s hand, briskly ordering him to take it and then provide her a report. He choked it down, grimacing as steam shot out of his ears.

“We meant to trap dementors,” he struggled not to stumble over his words. “He used too much magic. And then they went for him. Molly, I- I don’t know. I couldn’t see. We need to get to privacy. He’s got a flat here.”

She pursed her lips tightly. “You’re in no shape to apparate, and I don’t know the location. I’m going to cast a charm to lighten him a little and then you are going to carry him.”

Unquestioningly, Harry scooped Draco into his arms and stood. The pepper-up potion had kicked in nicely, and he was feeling more stable. He headed down the deserted street, Molly following silently.

On reaching the door to Draco’s flat, Harry gave his wand a wave and strode right through, to place Draco carefully on the bed. Molly slammed the door behind her, and moved to the bedside, gently pushing Harry out of her way. She began to cast a series of diagnostic charms over the unconscious young man.

“He wasn’t kissed,” she confirmed after a moment. Harry’s knees were weak with relief. “He _has_ hit his head. There’s a concussion. It seems to be minor enough that I can handle it.”

Placing her hand across Draco’s forehead, Molly ran her wand around the circumference of his skull, reciting a melodic incantation. After repeating the motion several times she whispered, “There,” and stood back from the bed.

Molly took a few deep breaths before turning to Harry. “His magic is dangerously low, barely a flicker. Between that and the concussion… he will sleep for a long time. Until he doesn’t need to anymore… I can’t say for certain. When he wakes, he’ll have a terrible headache and nausea. Here are some potions that will help with that,” she passed him several vials holding a shimmering blue substance from her bag. “He will be okay.”

Grasping Molly in a tight hug, Harry said fervently, “Thank you, Molly.”

“Why not go to St. Mungo’s, Harry?” Her eyes slid over the walls, plastered with notes, the map in the centre of the mess, crowded with pins.

Harry felt tears stinging at his eyes. It seemed so stupid, now. He clearly ought to have just tossed Malfoy’s superficial worries out the window and gone straight there. “He didn’t want me to.” He confessed, “We’ve been working together. Trying to find a way to destroy dementors. After everything though…”

“People would think things,” Molly said, eyes too understanding.

“Do I need to take him? I will,” Harry said gravely.

“No,” Molly replied. “At this point, he’ll be fine. But Harry, dear, if something like this were to happen again… perhaps you need to have a conversation. It seems to me two talented young men working together to fight something evil in this world shouldn’t need to be hidden. It certainly shouldn’t lead to grave injury going untreated.”

Harry nodded, uncomfortable under the weight of her words.

“Do you have chocolate?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. You have some. And make up hot chocolate, give him a few drops- not too much, mind. Don’t want him to choke. Lift his head up carefully, before you try.”

“Yes, Mrs. Weasley.”

Molly turned to Harry, eyes kind. She wrapped him up in her arms and kissed him on the cheek, instructing him to call her again if he needs, but that she was going to head back to bed. It was only then that Harry realized she was in a frilly bathrobe. He impressed his gratitude on her as she departed, then turned right back to Draco.

His skin was pinker, warmer when Harry brushed fingers across his forehead. Harry pulled off Draco’s shoes and jacket, then shifted him so he was tucked beneath the comforter. He stood above him, keeping anxious watch. When Harry’s legs felt too weak to hold him any longer, he pulled one of Draco’s armchairs around the half wall and up to the bedside.

\---

It wasn’t until Draco opened his eyes and asked, “Potter?” that Harry could properly catch his breath again.

“Draco,” he whispered, “thank Merlin.

Draco winced, “I’ve a blinding headache.”

“Oh!” Harry jumped to fetch the potions Molly had left, “Here’s something for that.”

Accepting Harry’s assistance to get into a sitting position, Draco choked back the potion, then gratefully accepted the glass of water Harry gave him. He fell back onto the pillows and sighed heavily.

After several minutes, he asked without shifting from his prone position, “So, what happened?”

Harry told him, keeping the story brief and factual. Then he asked, throat constricting around the words, “Why did you put _all_ of your power into that talisman?”

Groaning, Draco covered his face, “Can we have this conversation after I’m a little more recovered, Potter?”

“You were unconscious for thirty hours, Draco.”

Harry knew without checking the time because he spent most of those hours wide awake and incessantly counting the minutes. Wondering at what point he needed to worry. Molly had said that Draco would sleep for a long time. But when did it become a possibility that he wouldn’t-couldn’t- wake up?

“You’re angry,” Draco observed, sounding surprised. He dropped his hand from his face, and turned to Harry who had pushed his chair out of the way in favour of pacing back and forth beside the bed.

“Yes. You fought with me over that plan. You assured me that you could manage the talisman. You nearly died, Draco. I thought they’d gotten your _soul_.”

“I- I don’t know what you want from me, Potter. An apology?”

Fury rose within Harry. He whirled to face Draco and bellowed, “I want you to not be a crazy, reckless, fucking idiot! I couldn’t even take you to St. Mungo’s!”

Draco, wincing, sat up, “Next time-”

“There’s not going to be a next time, Draco.”

Moving with more speed than advisable, Draco got out of bed, saying, “Harry-” before vomiting on the floor.

After that, Harry had to let go of his anger. He helped Draco back into bed and cast a _scourgify_ on the rug.

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments always welcome :)


	12. Part 3; Ch 12 Headlines and Howlers

Part 3

Take it any way you want to  
She lit a fire in your head, standing with a flower in her hair  
And alcohol plus information often makes it, complicated  
So you'll hate me, make love  
Lately I've spent my days in daydreams waking you, me  
Saving every heartbeat, word, line that you ever gave to me  
Cause fair is a weather condition  
-Shameful Company, Rainbow Kitten Surprise

Christmas was in two weeks, but rather than feeling excited Harry was back to feeling as badly as he’d felt at the beginning of October. Quite possibly worse. After sending Draco through the floo back to the manor and his mother’s care, Harry had returned to his flat. They hadn’t seen each other since. While his anger had faded from volcanic to just a simmer, Harry still had no intention to attempt to destroy dementors again.

He was pretty sure that Draco wouldn’t try to do it on his own. Historically, he’d shown more self-preservation than that. Evidently, he also had too much pride to come talk to Harry. So it had been several days since they’d seen one another.

Oscar hopped across the bar, which was scattered with Christmas catalogues, and nestled in against Harry’s chest- Harry was resting his face in his palms, elbows on the tabletop, creating a little cave for the bird. The owl’s hoot of concern brought a sad smile to Harry’s face. “It’s alright, Oscar. I’ll pick out some orders and send you off on an errand in a bit, yeah?”

Harry had a sneaking suspicion that Oscar had been visiting Draco. Every evening the typically clingy owl would ask to be let out, and would return a few hours later. He often nipped at Harry before leaving, and one day went so far as dropping a quill and parchment in front of Harry and looking pointedly between Harry and the window. But Harry was not going to be the one to cave. Draco had looked like utter shite when Harry had helped him into the floo to go back to the Manor and yet he had still refused to acknowledge that their project was pointless and too dangerous to continue pursuing.

If Harry’s reaction to Draco’s injuries hadn’t led to any self-realizations, his mood over the last week had made it inevitable. He missed the prat. So much, in fact, that Harry was beginning to realize perhaps he felt a great deal more for Malfoy than he ought to. Which was no good, because he was with Ginny. Ginny who had waited for him, fought for him. Who was meant to be his happy ending.

And besides, Harry was straight. Sure, he’d notice if another guy was attractive, in theory and all. But that’s just because, despite Hermione often saying he was, Harry _wasn’t_ completely oblivious. And anyways, it’s not as if he didn’t find Ginny attractive. The thought that Harry was hesitant to progress their relationship at the pace Ginny wanted niggled at the back of his mind. But it was more because he was frightened of the emotional intimacy than anything else. Deciding he needed to do something to break out of his mind, Harry headed out for a run.

When he came back, sweating in his leggings and baggy hoodie, a figure at the door brought him up short. It took Harry a moment to recognize Draco, sitting with his face buried in his knees and his arms folded up behind his head, hanging on to the back of his neck.

“Hi,” Harry said numbly.

Draco looked up, tears running down his face. Harry immediately dropped to the floor, grabbing Draco’s shoulders. “What’s wrong? What’s happened?”

Draco shook his head, lips pressed tight together. “Can we go inside, please?”

Harry nodded, helping pull Draco to his feet. Draco grabbed the folded newspaper that was laying on the ground next to him on his way up. When Harry closed the door behind them, Draco pressed the paper to Harry’s chest and began to pace the room. He tugged anxiously at his hair, avoiding Harry’s gaze.

A photograph of Harry carrying Draco into his flat the other week took up most of the front page of _The Daily Prophet_. Harry’s first thought was that he would burn down Rita Skeeter’s whole reputation, before he noticed that Rita did not actually write the article. Well. Whoever _Masen Turner _was had better be ready for what would come his way.

In the black and white photo, Harry had dark circles under his eyes and looked shockingly pale. Draco was held carefully in his arms, his face tucked against Harry’s chest. Molly wasn’t visible in the photograph, though she had been walking closely behind them at the time it was taken.

_What is Going on Between the Saviour of the Wizarding World and his School-Yard Rival, the Contentiously Acquitted Death Eater Draco Malfoy? _read the headline.

Harry skimmed the article quickly. It conjectured on several possibilities, ranging from Draco controlling Harry via the Imperious curse to a tightly under-wraps sexual liaison. The article was inflammatory and cast suppositions about the mental health of both young men. It was fully degrading to Malfoy.

Harry tossed it in his bin and set it aflame. Which was a mistake, as it set off the fire alarms. Oscar began screeching and landed on the windowsill where he knocked urgently. Harry hastily cast a charm to clear the smoke from the air and jabbed at the button on the alarm with his wand, sighing in relief when the piercing noise ended. He let Oscar out, deciding the poor thing’s state of mind mattered more than the fact that it was the middle of the day and he’d be easily spotted.

“Fuck that,” he declared, turning back to the smouldering paper. “And what a terribly written headline. Not that the article was anything near decent journalism. I’ve had quite a lot of stories written about me, so I would know.”

Draco turned to him, expression incredulous. “Is that all you have to say?”

Harry shrugged, “It’s frustrating, for sure. It’s provocative and ridiculous. But I spent most of my second year at Hogwarts with everyone thinking I was Slytherin’s Heir, and my fourth and fifth years with everyone believing bullshit stories about my instability and attention mongering. It’ll pass.”

“Potter,” Draco’s voice cracked, reminding Harry that he was not the only one affected by this particular bullshit story. “I am in such a tenuous position. This is why I didn’t go back to Hogwarts. Why I rarely go out. Why my house is warded against mail from all but a few approved people. Even in this photograph where I am bloody unconscious, I am _evil_.”

“Draco.” He had turned away from Harry, who stepped towards him, voice earnest, “You are not evil. Not by a long stretch. And I’m-”

Draco whirled back to face him, shouting, “No?” and yanked his left sleeve up, showing Harry the mark, black against his pale skin. At least, now that Voldemort was dead, the snake no longer twisted, moving around the skull. It was still and plain, no different than a muggle tattoo.

“No.” Harry said firmly as he met Draco’s eyes, having barely given the tattoo a glance. “And I’m sorry. I know you didn’t want to be seen together. But I was scared and I’d let the dementors affect me more than I should have and I didn’t have enough energy to take you home and then go get Molly. If I apparated with you I would’ve splinched you for sure and I could barely think straight and I- I don’t _know_.”

Draco buried his face in his hands for a long moment, shoulders shaking. Harry stood still, uncertain what to do, but feeling bound and tied by indiscernible emotions.

“I don’t blame you,” Draco looked back at Harry, dropping his hands. “My mother was livid that I’d been missing two days without contact. This morning she just walked into my rooms and chucked the paper at me. I’ve no idea what I’ll say to her. Probably nothing. We will just carry on in a tense state of barely speaking. It’s not that different, I suppose. Are you still cross with me?”

Harry looked down, shrugging, “I was scared.”

“So… friends?” Draco wiped his face on his sleeves looking hopefully at Harry.

Harry nodded and asked a little desperately, “Tea?”

“Sometimes, Potter,” Draco laughed, “I wish you drank.”

“I’ve still got your firewhisky,” he offered.

Rolling his eyes, Draco said, “No, tea’s fine.” He turned to the breakfast bar, “What’s all this clutter you’ve got, then?”

“Oh, Christmas catalogues. You aren’t the only one who avoids being seen in public. Go clean yourself up, you’re a soggy mess. You can help me pick out my Christmas gifts while we have tea.”

As it turned out, Draco loved picking out gifts for people. He’d distanced himself from the friends he had had before the war, explaining that he wanted to move on from a life most of them clung to. Pansy was the exception. Harry was generous, but shite at choosing gifts, and was delighted to have help.

In the end, Draco chose gifts for everyone on Harry’s list except for Ron and Ginny, which would have felt wrong. Hermione would receive a recent publication on international politics following the war. Mrs. Weasley would get a pot that Draco assured Harry was of the best quality. With a subtle blush, Draco told Harry he had sent Mrs. Weasley flowers and an unsigned thank you note after his recovery. For Teddy, Draco picked out a small flying carpet, which was equipped with a baby-seat that could be removed as he grew into a toddler. And, Harry was pleased, Draco agreed to let Harry speak with Andromeda about meeting. Draco even helped Harry decide on a gift certificate for a great pizza place they’d discovered as a gift for Dudley, who was moving to London in the new year.

\---

It was a blessing that Draco had gone home for dinner with his mum before the howler arrived. Pigwidgeon struggled with the large red envelope, and a school owl had been sent along with him to provide support. The large tawny owl took off irritably once it released the envelope. Pig headed straight for Oscar’s water bowl and drank as though he wanted to drown himself.

The howler hovered before Harry for a moment before unfolding. Ron’s voice, carefully controlled said, “Hullo Harry, your two best friends and girlfriend would like to know WHAT THE BLOODY HELL?”

Ginny’s voice in the background, exasperated said, “Ronald, I really think the howler is excessive. But yes, Harry, I am curious why you failed to mention what the hell happened to put you and Malfoy in a position like that.”

“CAN WE NOT LEAVE YOU UNSUPERVISED WITHOUT MAKING BAD DECISIONS?” Ron hollered.

_“Ron_,” Hermione hissed.

“YOU OWE US SOME EXPLANATION!”

Resignedly, Harry grabbed a piece of parchment and began to write out a letter as the howler incinerated itself. He wasn’t naïve enough to think he’d avoid this conversation forever, but it very much was one he did not want to have. And it would’ve been better to wait until Christmas when he could see them all in person, at least. He began to scrawl out the basic details of the dementor problem and his work with Malfoy, minimizing the amount of time and emotional investment involved with it all.

\---

The day after the Prophet article, Draco turned up at Harry’s flat and insisted they head to Grimmauld Place for some practice with the Boggart. Harry was reluctant, but decided there was no real harm in practicing. If anything, it seemed Draco had lost some of his progress towards casting a corporeal patronus since their failed attempt to destroy the dementors.

Regardless, after he’d had some tea and chocolate, he told Harry, “I’m to dinner with mother, but I’ll meet you at your place by eight for patrol.”

Harry gaped at him, “No you bloody well will not!”

Though he hadn’t told Draco, Harry had kept up with patrols on his own during the time they weren’t speaking.

“Why ever not?”

“I told you there wasn’t going to be a next time, Malfoy.”

Draco blinked, “Well, you meant we weren’t going to try with the talisman again.”

“No I meant you aren’t going to keep putting yourself in danger when you’re incapable of casting a patronus just so you can have a redemption arc!”

Draco looked as though he’d been slapped. “Well, then. If that’s what you think…”

“Fuck,” Harry muttered, pulling his glasses away from his face so he could rub at his eyes. He turned dolefully to look at Draco, “That’s not what I meant.”

“Oh?” Draco crossed his arms.

“I just… It was really bloody awful, alright? I thought you’d been _kissed,_ Draco. And you still don’t seem to recognize how serious that was.”

“I’m scared too, Potter!” Draco shouted, causing Oscar to flap his wings indignantly. “Don’t think I don’t understand how serious it can be. Not when I see my father every week. Not when I saw how scared _you_ were after it happened. I was scared well before then. I’ve been scared this whole forsaken time, is that what you want to hear? But I am bloody _sick_ of letting fear be what makes my choices for me.” Draco let his voice drop back down. “I’m not doing this to make other people see me as more than a Death Eater. I’m doing this because _I_ want to do good. Be good. I’ll carry on without you, if you’d prefer.”

“No, Draco, I would not prefer,” Harry replied wearily, “We can keep doing patrols.”

“And research.”

“We are not trying the thing with the talisman again,” Harry insisted.

Draco thought this over for a moment. Harry had a suspicion that it was more for effect, a Slytherin tactic, than Draco actually needing to mull it over. Finally, he stuck his hand out towards Harry’s to shake, “Deal.”


	13. Spirit of the Season

The week before Christmas Harry found himself stocking shelves at Weasley Wizard Wheezes. He hadn’t been around to help George in a while, and the poor man was drowning in pre-hols rush. That was how he came to conveniently be creating a tower of Fred and George’s daydream potions by the front door when the chime rang and in strutted Draco Malfoy.

“Draco!” Harry beamed with delight. “Whatever has brought you into an establishment like this?”

Harry had been suspicious that Draco was intending to take a trip to the shop, as the week prior he’d asked cautiously about how the surviving Weasley twin was doing and what sort of things Harry did at the shop when he helped out (other than sexing pygmy puffs, which Harry was never going to hear the end of).

“Oh,” Harry had said, “As good as can be expected, I suppose. Shop’s just as busy as it was before the war. I just do a bit of this and a bit of that, nothing where I have to interact with actual customers.”

Draco, with only the slightest hint of reluctance, had expressed admiration for George’s resilience and business acumen.

Now he scowled at Harry and looked around the shop with uncertainty. “Thought I might buy something for Teddy, Potter. Wasn’t expecting to see you.”

“Brilliant, Malfoy!” George said brightly, having just snuck up behind him. He ignored Draco’s jump and gave him a friendly clap on the shoulder. “It so happens I know exactly what everyone else has gotten for sweet babe Teddy, and I know the perfect gift.” He turned to Harry, “Get lost, Harry. Take a tea break. This is none of your business.”

Harry, not sure whether to be amused or irked, watched as George guided Draco deeper into the shop. Draco cast a fleeting glance of terror over his shoulder towards Harry. Amused, Harry decided, leaving the shop for some tea as instructed. Malfoy was gone by the time he had returned, and when Harry saw him later that evening, he firmly declined discussing his trip to the shop at all.

\---

Harry studied Draco’s expression, carefully looking for any signs of deception. “So we are in agreement, you swear you won’t go out without me?”

Rolling his eyes Draco droned, “I, Draco Lucius Malfoy, will not go out on patrol without you, Harry Potter, on this night, the 22 of December, or the nights of December 23, 24, 25 or 26 1998. I swear this on the only, pathetic dregs of honour I have left to my name.”

“Fine,” Harry swatted at him. “No need to be so dramatic.”

“_Harry,_” Draco gave him a flat look.

Draco Malfoy was the most infuriating man in Britain. “If you’re suggesting that _I’ve_ been dramatic, Malfoy…” Harry growled.

“Of course I’m not!” Draco said quickly, turning away from Harry to give Oscar the attention he’d been begging for. “You’re right, we’ve not spotted a dementor in weeks, I’m sure a couple of days off won’t lead to total chaos.”

That first night they’d headed back out, Harry’s nerves had been pulled taught. They hadn’t encountered any dementors. Nor had they any of the following nights. Draco joked that maybe the mere possibility that they’d try the talisman again had scared them all back to Azkaban. It wasn’t all that funny.

As he stroked Oscar’s temples, Draco pulled an elaborate biscuit from his jacket pocket and explained, “This, Oscar, is your Christmas gift. I hope you savour it, because it cost an absurd amount of money at Eeylop’s.”

Oscar, of course, gulped the whole thing down within seconds.

“Have a Happy Christmas, Draco,” Harry wished as the man headed out the door. Draco favoured Harry with a sardonic smile. He was going to miss him.

Harry was just preparing to head over to the Burrow, where Ginny, Ron, and Hermione were expected by evening time, when he heard a knock on his door. He flung the door open with a wry look, Oscar riding on his shoulder, expecting to see Draco again with some reach of an excuse about why he was back at Harry’s door so shortly after saying goodbye.

“Harry!” Ginny screeched, throwing her arms around his neck, sending Oscar to the air with an irritated hoot.

“Hello Oscar,” Hermione said, holding her arm out for the owl. “And Harry.”

“Happy Christmas, mate!” Ron greeted.

After Harry had grabbed everyone up in a jovial hug and hustled them into his apartment he stepped back and eyed his friends. They were red cheeked and joyful, bundled up in school scarves and Weasley jumpers.

Ron, whose bluntness was both a blessing and a pain, said, “We came to collect you before dinner. We figured there wasn’t a shot in the dark of you being honest with us about this Malfoy stuff in front of everyone else.”

“Oh. Er…” Harry rubbed at his neck and went to turn the kettle on.

All three of them eyed him suspiciously, waiting for him to speak. Once the kettle was set to boil and four mugs sat ready on the counter, Harry said, “Not much to say beyond what’s in my letter. Malfoy was doing some banking in muggle London earlier in the fall and saved me from some dementors that came my way. Then- bizarre I know- I turned on the telly and we watched the news, which led us to believe that there were several attacks against muggles. And Malfoy, being the interfering git that he is, insisted the Ministry wasn’t doing enough to manage the problem and that they didn’t even believe that they could be destroyed, while he was certain there must be a way to destroy them and given my skills with the patronus… Well, he basically told me we were going to work together to figure it out.”

“What the fuck?” Ron interrupted. Ginny and Hermione watched Harry shrewdly as he poured tea for each of them and settled into his armchair.

“I know, I know it’s batty. And I nearly quit after a couple weeks because what I am doing working on something the Ministry is already dealing with alongside _Draco-Bloody-Malfoy_, but then this little muggle girl got attacked and _lost her soul_. And we were on the track with some research and I… I just couldn’t quit. And as it turns out, Malfoy’s not quite so terrible anymore.”

Ron, looking outraged, turned to his girlfriend and sister for their reactions.

Hermione winced slightly and said delicately, “He wasn’t wrong, was he? The Ministry doesn’t really have it under control. And Harry, I cannot believe you didn’t tell me about muggles being attacked at the beginning of all this! I, I don’t even-”

“So what?” Ron’s voice was raised in a challenge, “You’re on board with this madness?”

“No.” Hermione said firmly. “But out of the two things Harry hid from us I believe one is worse than the other. And it’s not the Malfoy thing.”

“So, the night of the photograph?” Ginny prompted softly. She’d been sitting in quiet demureness; it unsettled Harry.

“It was the first time we tried to actually trap and destroy dementors. There were three. Malfoy poured all his power into a talisman that was meant to do the destroying and nearly died.” It took some effort for Harry to sound less affected by that than he truthfully was. “I uhm… I brought him back to his flat and called Molly to help heal him.”

Instantaneously, Ron was on his feet, “_You brought my mum into this?_”

If Harry had any notion of telling them that George already knew, he dropped it in the face of Ron’s furious tone.

“Ronald!” Ginny snapped. Ron stood, hands clenched and took a few heaving breaths before lowering himself back onto the couch. Harry dearly wished that he hadn’t sat in his armchair, leaving the three of them side by side on his couch, regarding him like a jury.

“Because of reasons that soon became self-evident, Malfoy didn’t want to be seen in public with me, so I couldn’t take him to St. Mungo’s,” Harry explained lamely.

Oscar moved from Hermione’s lap to the arm of the chair, positioning himself defensively between Ron and Harry. Suddenly, Harry felt as though he might drown in the silence. Though he was too hot, he took a long sip of his tea.

“Malfoy apologized to me recently. I don’t suppose he told you, Harry,” Hermione said. This was clearly not news to Ron or Ginny, but was, indeed, to Harry.

“No?”

“He and I met at the Hog’s Head on a Hogsmeade weekend in November, when Ron and Ginny were tied up at Quidditch Practice. He didn’t mention you at all, actually, but I wonder whether he would have bothered if it weren’t for this,” she waved her hand uncertainly, “working relationship you have. Regardless, he seemed to be quite sincere about it. He’s still Malfoy and all, sort of prideful, but he spoke of all the specific incidences he wanted to apologize for and said he wished that we could have a better relationship moving forward.”

Ron muttered darkly, “_Relationship_.”

“So... uh… did you forgive him?”

“Yes,” she said plainly. “I also apologized for hitting him that once. Though,” she added with a small grin, “I made it clear that he was very deserving, but that I regret the use of violence. Violence is never the answer.”

The anxiety that had been twisting in Harry’s gut loosened a little, and he couldn’t help but be pleased to hear that Draco had apologized to Hermione. Maybe Harry could even suggest he try to do the same with Ron.

“So. er, are you lot angry with me?”

Their faces all held traces of irritation, but more so a sort of resigned fondness.

“Harry,” Ginny said. “You’re not the type to let a challenge pass you by… which I suppose this absolutely mad situation is on every possible level. So no. But I do wish you’d been honest with us.”

“I just didn’t want you all to worry. And I knew none of you would be exactly chuffed about it all.”

“It is my right as your girlfriend to worry,” Ginny said firmly, fire in her eyes.

“Alright,” Harry conceded. “I am sorry.”

“Great,” Ginny jumped to her feet, and, ignoring that Ron looked as though he weren’t done on the subject, declared, “Mates, let’s head home, then!”

\---

The garden had a light dusting of snow. A trail of gnome prints crossed the white canvas. Harry had watched the chubby little thing hustle its way from the compost bins to the bushes across the yard with an armful of potato peelings. He had just needed a break from the cheer and noise in the house, but sitting on the steps in the chill wasn’t helping to brighten his mood.

Just over there, Harry knew, was where George had landed with Remus, bleeding heavily from his lost ear. Harry remembered the look on Fred’s face, on Mr. Weasley’s face, when they realized something was wrong with George. George had opted out of the welcome home party tonight, to Mrs. Weasley’s dismay. He’d said that he could only manage to hold the cheer for so many days in a row, and he’d best save it for Christmas eve and day proper.

Harry felt as though he was entirely unworthy to be a part of this family. A part of the Christmas celebrations. And he felt as though that translated into ingratitude, which he hated. But how could he possibly share the magnitude of his appreciation properly? His gratitude for the family that had accepted him as one of their own, even though it put them all at risk? Even though they suffered for it? His thankfulness for Ginny, who had been so very understanding?

It was strange, to have accepted his own death. To have been ready for it and then continue to live. It was another thing he _was_ grateful for, of course. Being alive. But life, it seemed, didn’t get any easier, rather more and more tangled.

His girlfriend slid out of the backdoor, laughter and drunken voices spilling into the yard with her before she closed the door. She settled herself onto the stoop next to Harry, her side pressed up against his.

“Harry?”

He picked up her warm hand and held it tightly.

“You ok?”

With a shrug he said, “I’m alright. I missed you all.”

“So why are you out here on your own, then?” Her brown eyes showed that, as always, she understood.

He shrugged again.

“Feeling a bit off, I suppose,” he replied after a moment.

“It’s ok, Harry.”

“What is?”

“Everything.”

Ginny laid her head on Harry’s shoulder and sat with him until he noticed she began to shiver and he led her back inside. Part of Harry gladly accepted Ginny’s comfort. But another part of him, caught up in confused emotions, was terribly ashamed for doing so. He was quite sure he didn’t deserve it. He wasn’t sure he was, or ever could be, enough for her at all.

\---

It had been Hermione’s suggestion to duck out of the party for a while and return to Godric’s Hollow on Christmas Eve. Harry had headed first for the house, wanting to save their graves for the end of the visit. He wrapped his hands around the railing of the fence, ignoring the icy chill that stung his palms. Hermione stood back by the statue in the square, studying it intently. Ron came to stand next to Harry, quietly reading the sign, and the graffiti scrawled around it. Some of the well-wishes from the prior year had faded, replaced with notes of gratitude. Oscar, as though he could sense this was an important place, flew up to the eaves of the house and hooted mournfully.

“Harry, I’m sorry I wasn’t here. When you needed me,” Ron said gravely, wrapping an arm around Harry’s shoulder. “I should have trusted you.”

Harry shrugged, feeling a little uncomfortable with the uncharacteristic show of emotion from his best mate. “It’s alright.”

“It wasn’t,” Ron’s voice wavered. “And you forgave me more easily than I deserved, I think. Anyways… with this dementor madness and all, I figure I trust you there too. And Hermione. So even if I will always think Malfoy is a right prat… I don’t intend to get in a row with you over a load of bullocks from the past.”

Harry slid his eyes towards Ron, smiling ruefully, “Thanks, Ron.”

“Just takes some getting used to, you know. Especially,” Ron continued in a tone that let Harry know he was just ribbing on him, “since you _hid_ it from us for months.”

“Sorry,” Harry mumbled, tugging Ron away from the ruins of his family’s home.

“Must be hard,” Ron noted, “to see it like that.”

“Easier this year,” Harry said. “I think maybe I’ll make a tradition of coming, though, like Hermione says.”

When they’d caught up to Hermione, she wrapped an arm around Harry’s back. The three of them headed towards the cemetery, with Harry tucked tightly between his best friends. At the grave they stood together, all crying silently, until Harry took a shuddering breath and nodded to signal that it was time to go. Hermione conjured a beautiful wreath again, and Ron rested his hand on the tombstone for a moment, before they turned back to the main street, and apparated to the Burrow.

Ginny, who had known without Harry having to say it that he would prefer for it to just be him, Hermione, and Ron (who should have been there the previous year, after all), greeted them with steaming mugs of hot chocolate.

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Wishing all of you around the world and your loved ones health and safety!!


	14. Tidings of Joy

Harry woke Christmas morning to a particularly violent snore of Ron’s. He moved to stretch his legs out, and kicked a package at the end of the bed. Sitting up, he grabbed the package, which was neatly wrapped in silver paper. The Weasleys and Hermione had left all their presents under the tree, so they could open them as a group. Harry hoped that some grateful witch or wizard hadn’t sent this. On his birthday, his bed (this same one, as he’d not yet moved from the Burrow to his flat at the time) had been buried in gifts from thankful wizarding citizens. Harry had had to give a press conference, thanking everyone but requesting they save their money to rebuild their own lives, or donate to one of the charities that Hermione had vetted for him. He’d given away the gifts, but kept all the letters in a box that sat on the top shelf of the wardrobe in his flat.

A small tag was tied to the shimmering white ribbon topping this gift.

_Happy Christmas, Potter. _

Draco’s writing. Harry’s heart fluttered in a way that was not unpleasant, but was definitely inappropriate. He unwrapped the package with care to find tea- his favourite brand- and a book. _1001 Wizarding Careers- Discover Your Potential_. A wide grin split his face.

“Morning, Harry. What’re you so happy about?”

Harry flipped his quilt to hide the book and waved the box of tea in Ron’s direction. “Tea! Happy Christmas, Ron.”

Ron grunted, pulling himself out of bed, “You too, Harry. You’re always so pleased with the simple things.”

“It’s my favourite,” Harry replied defensively, getting out of bed himself.

No need for Ron to know who’d given him the tea. Or that that was the real reason Harry was smiling like an idiot. He’d gotten Draco a gift as well, but wasn’t sure if it was ok to do so, or if Draco would see it as overstepping. But, Harry figured, they’d named their relationship a friendship. And getting each other Christmas gifts was what friends did. So he’d sent Draco a large basket full of his favourite sweets and the prep guide for the Auror Program entry examination, along with a small note of encouragement.

He hoped he wouldn’t receive a howler about it. The note of encouragement may have been pushing Draco’s sensibilities a little too far.

For the rest of the day, Harry did his best to push Draco out of his mind and focus on those loved ones that surrounded him. George carried a tinge of sadness throughout the day, but hollered with laughter as each family member struggled to open their gifts from him. For Ginny, he’d placed a very small gift in a series of boxes nesting in one another like Russian Dolls- with the first box as tall as the Christmas tree. Mr. Weasley had to unwind a full roll of spello-tape before being able to open his package. Molly laughed when she had to follow a thread of yarn through the whole house until she found the end attached her gift, but she cried over the turkey. She smiled through her tears as all of her children- and those she’d brought into her fold- smothered her with affection.

The day smelled of cinnamon, and turkey and cranberries and the lighting charms held a particular warmth. Harry stayed by the Christmas tree for ages after everyone else, watching the multi-coloured fairy lights twinkle in a mesmerizing pattern.

\---

It was a particularly grey day when Harry took Draco to meet Andromeda and Teddy. Warmth radiated from the house out onto the porch where the two boys stood. Draco tapped his foot rapidly as they waited for a response to Harry’s knock- which was in the rhythm of a Weird Sisters song.

They were immediately ushered in out of the cold for tea and biscuits. Andromeda grasped Draco’s hand and pressed a kiss to his cheek before heading to the kitchen and leaving them in the hall with the baby who had scooted on his bum towards their feet. Teddy, his hair electric blue, smiled sunnily at Harry and threw his arms up in a demand to be picked up. Harry did as requested, then turned towards Draco in order to introduce them. Teddy turned his face shyly against Harry’s chest. Oscar hooted gently at the baby and then flew from Harry’s shoulder over to Draco’s in a demonstration of allegiance.

With an apologetic look towards Draco, who was more anxious than Harry had ever seen him, Harry said, “C’mon Teddy, this is my good friend Draco. He’s also your family, you know. Cousin Draco!”

Teddy made a noise of consideration, and Harry rotated so that even with his face still pressed up against Harry the baby could peek at Draco.

“Hi, Teddy,” Draco greeted cautiously. “I like your hair.”

While Teddy hadn’t quite yet managed to say a proper word- Andromeda assured Harry he was really still too young- Harry was quite certain he understood most of what was said to him. Teddy was a brilliant baby. And he had a large vocabulary of baby-nonsense. He grinned at Draco’s compliment, lifting his head away from Harry so he could comb his fingers through his hair, and began to chatter happily.

Draco chuckled breathlessly, looking to Harry with a sense of wonder.

“Brilliant,” Harry proclaimed, “Here.”

Teddy kicked his feet as Harry held him out towards Draco, still babbling away.

“Oh no,” Draco took a step backwards, still holding the packages they had brought for Teddy. “Nope. No thank you.”

Rolling his eyes, Harry propped Teddy up onto his hip and headed into the sitting room. Draco followed and set the gifts onto the table. Teddy immediately reached for the sparkling ribbons.

“No, you wait till grandmum’s here to see,” Harry instructed, before calling through the passageway, “Need any help, Dromeda?”

Three cups of tea with a bowl of sugar cubes and a saucer of milk entered the room, followed by Andromeda, guiding the lot with her wand aloft. “No, thank you, dear.”

“Can we give him his gifts?” Harry asked eagerly.

While Andromeda and Teddy had been at the Weasley’s for Christmas Day, Harry had saved his gift for today. Given that Draco had picked it out, it seemed important that he be there to witness the unwrapping. And Draco had his own gift to give that he’d picked out with George’s help- both of them continued to refuse to tell Harry what it was.

“Go ahead,” she smiled at them fondly.

“Mine first,” Draco suggested, glancing at Harry under worried brows. Harry grinned at his friend, setting Teddy down next to the table.

“Teddy, happy Christmas,” Draco said, proffering the present.

Shaking the long, thin package that Draco handed him with a determined curiosity, the baby found himself shocked as clouds of red and green smoke exploded out of it and the paper unravelled. Harry shot a surreptitious glance towards Draco, who sure enough, looked rather pleased with his charm work. Teddy pulled a wand out of the package and waved it with delight until it turned into a large rubber fish. He gasped and shook it aggressively. Bouncing up and down on the coffee table Oscar hooted, just as entertained as Teddy was. Quickly, the wand turned into a rubber chicken, then a bundle of plastic carrots. Teddy, clinging to the trick wand, clapped his hands delightedly around the bundle. Then he puckered his lips and made smacking noises towards Draco.

“Go on dear, give him your cheek,” Andromeda instructed Draco, looking very amused, “he wants to give you a thank you kiss.”

Draco, cheeks a delicate pink, sat himself down on the ground and allowed Teddy to clamber up onto his lap and press a sloppy kiss to his chin. He looked, though Harry would never be brave enough to bring it up to Draco in the future, close to tears. Harry felt supremely satisfied to be the orchestrator of it all.

When Teddy opened the flying carpet and they’d strapped the little boy in, allowing him to take a ride around the sitting room, Harry shared proudly that this gift, too, had been all Draco’s idea, much to Draco’s embarrassment.

Afterwards, they headed to the park, as per Harry and Teddy’s tradition. In the chill, there was no one else around. Harry made sure that Teddy’s small hands were protected with mittens from the shimmering frost that coated the metal poles of the play structures and the surrounding lawn. Andromeda linked her arm through Harry’s and guided him around the perimeter of the adjacent football field, leaving Draco to play with Teddy on the swing set.

“I thought it might be best to give them some time to connect without us in the way,” she explained, giving Harry a warm smile. They strolled contentedly for a while before, looking back to watch Draco push Teddy on the swings, Andromeda remarked, “He’s really quite charming.”

“Oh, er,” Harry rubbed at his neck, feeling flushed. “Yeah, when he’s not being a tremendous spoiled prat, I suppose.”

“An unfortunate side effect of being raised in an elite pureblood family,” Dromeda laughed. “I can relate. I’m certain I was much less of a ponce than my sisters, yet Ted always teased that I have a tendency to get a little demanding.”

Harry smiled, watching the frost crunch beneath his feet. “Thank you, for agreeing to meet him. For letting him spend time with Teddy like this.”

She shrugged, her arm lifting out of Harry’s with the movement. “Family- and I certainly don’t just mean by blood- is never easy. No sense wasting those opportunities to build connections.”

As Harry mulled this over, he missed the initial warning signs. He heard Andromeda’s breath catch, and realized quite suddenly that the temperature, already cold had dropped to fully frigid. The afternoon light had dimmed. And Harry was filled with a sense of dread. Oscar shrieked a warning. Harry whirled around, pulling out his wand, to catch sight of Draco and Teddy, who was still securely in the baby swing.

Two dementors glided rapidly towards them.

“_DRACO_,” Harry screamed, desperate to get his attention. The dementors were too close. Draco had already noticed them and, shoulders squared, raised his wand. Harry cast his patronus, knowing it wouldn’t reach them in time.

But it didn’t matter that his stag was too far, because a large silver cat came flying from Draco towards the dementors. It charged at them, soon followed by Harry’s stag, chasing the dementors out of the park.

Harry ran towards Draco and Teddy, heart pounding. Andromeda apparated right to the swing set, beating Harry by only seconds. Draco had scooped Teddy out of the swing and cradled him closely, cooing reassurance to the crying baby, despite his own breath shuddering violently.

Andromeda wrapped the two in her arms, whispering her gratitude to Draco. She pulled Teddy from Draco’s arms and wiped away his tears. Harry’s stag returned to their side, and Teddy smiled, pointing at it. Draco’s patronus did not return, apparently not having quite the staying power of Harry’s charm.

“Let’s go home,” Andromeda said softly, turning with Teddy to walk away. Oscar flew alongside them, keeping watch.

Harry and Draco hadn’t unlocked eyes since Andromeda had released Draco from her desperate embrace.

“You did it,” Harry said, voice hoarse. Then, already regretting his lack of inhibitions, he pulled Draco into a hug. Draco gasped and left his arms at his side, but rested his head on Harry’s shoulder for a moment.

Then he said, “Get off me you prat,” and, “do you have any chocolate?”

Harry grinned and held on for a moment longer before letting his friend go and digging in his coat pockets for a chocolate frog, which he tossed over his shoulder towards Draco as he followed Andromeda home. Draco took a minute to catch up, and when he did, he shoved the collectable card into Harry’s hand.

“Oh, it’s me,” Harry noted, disappointed.

“I always knew you were just in it for the fame,” Draco replied wryly.

Harry studied the image of him, which looked as uncomfortable as he currently felt. “You think they’d have had to ask my permission for something like this.” Then a thought occurred to him, a perfect distraction, “Hey Draco, what was your patronus? Looked an awful lot like a lioness, you know.”

He slid his eyes over to Draco, who was keeping pace with him. He had turned pink again. But who’s to say it wasn’t from their brisk walk in the cold?

Tone arrogant, Draco said, “It was clearly a jaguar, Potter. Which is much more impressive than a stag.”

“I’m glad you’re both okay,” Harry replied sincerely. “I knew you could do it.”

“Yes. Well. It was a highly unpleasant experience and I’d rather not repeat it,” Draco declared as they climbed the steps of Andromeda’s porch and were welcomed back into the warmth of the home. Andromeda made hot chocolate for all of them and Teddy poked at the miniature marshmallows she’d included in his little cup with delight, before spilling half of it down his front because Draco didn’t realize quite how much support the baby needed.

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delayed update, wild times. George's pranked presents were inspired by my dear uncle, from whom when I was six or so, I was sure I was receiving a play castle of gigantic proportions. It turned out to be a cool colour changing barbie, which was welcome just the same. The scene with Teddy is one of my favourites. I hope you all enjoyed the chapter, and that you and your loved ones are staying well!


	15. Sitting Room Meals with Unlikely Friends

Of course, Harry had seen this coming. He’d told her about the dementors going after Draco and Teddy at the park the previous day. He may have mentioned that there was a possibility they were targeting him (which he had chosen not to disclose to Kingsley when he went to yell at him again). And honestly, he was surprised she hadn’t insisted on doing this earlier.

Hermione stood at his door with her arms piled full of books, just as Draco had all those months ago. The only difference was that on top of her teetering pile of books sat a container of biscuits from Molly, rather than a bottle of fire whiskey that would go unopened.

What Harry hadn’t seen coming was Draco’s reaction to this.

“_Finally_, Granger,” he called from inside Harry’s flat.

About a half hour ago, when Harry was preparing to head off to Draco’s flat, the man had arrived at Harry’s instead and informed him that this was where they’d be working today. That should have clued Harry in, really. But he’d just set his own kettle to boil and listened to Draco think through his newest theory out loud.

Hermione bustled past Harry when he didn’t move to let her in. “Sorry,” she said genuinely. “I went back to Hogwarts to get some books from the library.”

“Brilliant. About time you got on our side.”

Hermione glared between him and Harry, “Well honestly, if either of you had told me I would’ve been helping ages ago.”

She unceremoniously dropped the texts in front of Draco, who eagerly pulled one out from the middle of the stack and began to rifle through the pages.

“I’ve been looking for Dominelli’s work for ages.”

“Yes,” Hermione replied haughtily. “You’re welcome.”

Draco tore his eyes away from the book to meet Hermione’s. “Thank you,” he said earnestly.

“Oh, erm. You’re properly welcome, then.”

“So Draco invited you to join us, or…”

Draco smirked at Harry, “She sort of invited herself, but I’m not going to turn down the help of Hermione Granger.”

Shaking his head, Harry muttered under his breath that she really ought to have talked to him about inviting herself over to _his_ flat. All the same, he got to making her a tea.

Draco and Hermione quickly divided up the books between them, giving a couple to Harry as well. He wanted to feel insulted that they gave him books which were both more recently published and slimmer, but he really couldn’t be. The old tomes written in middle English were exhausting. Even still, after a few hours he became fidgety. Draco usually made sure that Harry was on track with his thoughts, but with Hermione at the table the two of them left him in the dust.

Eventually, Draco turned to Harry and asked diplomatically, “Why don’t you go pick us up some fish and chips?”

“You are kicking me out of my own home,” Harry stated flatly.

Rolling his eyes, Draco said, “You’re dying for a break, we’re in the flow of things. Just go.”

Harry huffed a little just for the sake of it, but was quick to put on his trainers and a coat and head out the door. The biscuits from Mrs. Weasley had all been demolished ages ago.

Out in the crisp late December air, he took his time. He chuckled at a small dog wearing booties and a jacket, and admired the Christmas displays in shop windows. He was pleased, really, to know that Draco was able to get along with Hermione at least. They were certainly similar enough in personality, but Harry had worried they wouldn’t be able to move beyond their past despite their having apparently talked things out.

When Harry came back to the flat with his arms full of steaming food (thank goodness for warming charms) Hermione and Draco were sitting on the floor by the coffee table, had pushed their books away, and were just talking casually. Draco laughed at something Hermione said and then turned a beaming smile towards Harry.

“About time, Potter. I’m starved.”

Harry ignored the squirm in his stomach and glared back. “You go next time. What was so funny when I walked in, anyways?”

Draco’s smile didn’t dim as he confessed cheerily, “We were comparing stories of your hero complex.”

“I wouldn’t say anything to embarrass you, Harry,” Hermione rushed to reassure him, squeezing his shoulder affectionately on her way to the cabinets for plates and utensils.

“I do not have a hero complex,” he protested, levitating the books over to the couch and spreading the food out on the coffee table. “Let’s eat.”

\---

Harry had only just managed to get Dudley away from his wall of wizarding photos and to sit down on the couch with him and eat before the pizza got cold when the crack of apparition sounded. The scent of magic mingled with dough, pepperoni and greasy cheese. Draco stood, staring in frozen horror at the scene in front of him.

“Oh _fuck_,” he whispered as he registered the shock written on Dudley’s face.

Harry turned to his cousin, feeling torn between amusement and horror himself. He was not at all sure how Dudley would react.

Dudley, who had grown to well over six feet in height and whose weight had been converted to a pretty imposing set of muscles, was gaping his mouth open and closed like a fish. He turned to Harry and in a stage whisper asked, “_So he’s one of you, then?"_

When Harry confirmed that Draco was indeed a wizard, Dudley turned to the intruder with a face splitting grin, “Whoa! How’d you do that, mate?”

“Erm…” Draco hesitated and turned to Harry, looking unsure. “Sorry to interrupt your dinner. My mother’s feeling unwell and she told me if I didn’t get out of her face and stop trying to take care of her she would curse me with my own wand… you know, since she can’t have hers for the time being. Anyways, I thought I’d pop by and ask if you wanted to eat together. I forgot you’d mentioned you had plans. So I’ll be off. Grab something in Diagon, instead.”

Biting down on a smile, Harry tried to ignore the rush of affection that washed over him as he watched Draco nervously stumble his way through the situation. Dudley, who had come into the city to prepare for his move and catch up with Harry, looked terribly disappointed that he wasn’t going to receive an answer to his question.

“It’s alright, grab a slice and come sit,” Harry said, waving towards the pizza on the counter.

Draco wrinkled his nose a little at the scene in Harry’s sitting room, where both he and Dudley were using paper napkins soaked with grease as plates for their loaded pizzas. It was a wonder, Harry thought, that he could notice that look on Malfoy’s face and not immediately jump to the defensive.

“No plates?”

Harry rolled his eyes. “You know where they are, feel free to use one Draco.”

Draco glanced towards the kitchen cabinets, then looked between Dudley and Harry. He seemed to decide that he, too, could be casual enough to eat without a proper plate and gathered himself up a slice on a napkin. He couldn’t manage to be quite so indifferent, however, and brought along two extra napkins so he could tuck one into his shirt collar and lay the other over his lap before cautiously lowering himself into the armchair. Oscar, cooing with pleasure at the chance to beggar food off of a new victim, crept up until Draco fed him a bit of sausage.

Dudley, who had wolfed down his first slice of pizza during Draco’s preparations, paused before his second slice to repeat his question about Draco’s apparition.

“Well…” Draco hedged, “I’m not sure it’s quite legal to explain it to you.”

Rolling his eyes, Harry said through a full mouth, “Dray, Dudley and I hated each other growing up because his parents didn’t understand magic.” Harry swallowed before continuing, “We decided to rectify that situation by telling him all about it. Anyhow, are there not allowances for families of muggleborns?”

Dudley punched Harry only slightly painfully on the arm, “Christ, don’t use that word. _Rectify._” He shuddered.

“I suppose I could explain the general concept, then,” Draco conceded.

Instead of holding on to his slice of pizza, he set it to hover in the air next to him so that he could use his hands while he spoke. This, unfortunately, led to Dudley bugging out his eyes and asking a series of questions about levitation charms which he thought would be quite useful in the mechanics shop where he was doing his apprenticeship. When Draco finally got to his pizza, he had to cast a warming charm on it.

Taking pity on him, Harry took over that explanation. _When you give a mouse a cookie…_ he thought giddily.

As soon as Draco had finished his share of pizza, he began to pepper Dudley with questions about mechanics. “How does an engine work?” and “How do gear shifts work?” and “Do you know how airplanes _fly_ without charms?”

Perhaps Harry ought to connect Draco with Mr. Weasley. After Dudley had done his best to answer (he wasn’t quite able to provide explanations on level with Draco’s ravenous curiosity), he pulled out a small gift bag.

“I know you sent me my gift in the post, but I wanted to give this to you in person so I could tell you how it worked,” Dudley said abashedly.

Inside the bag was a spider, constructed with thin slices of wood and metal gears. It was connected to a small switchboard with a long string of wire. Harry set it down on the floor and, with Dudley’s guidance, flicked the toggle on the board. The spider began to scuttle along the carpet towards Draco’s feet. He pulled them up and bent forward to examine it, laughing in delight.

Grinning, Harry turned the spider around to crawl the other direction and turned to Dudley. “Did you make this?”

“Yeah,” Dudley shrugged, “it wasn’t a big deal.”

“I love it. Thank you.”

The evening, spent with Harry’s two most unexpected friends (and the strangest combination of them), was thoroughly enjoyable. At one point Draco had been about to mention the dementors, but he was quick to pick up on Harry’s cue to shut it; Dudley didn’t seem to notice that Draco hadn’t intended to tell him about how his mother had a newfound crush on the muggle singer Michael Bublé (apparently Narcissa had overheard some of his music a few Christmas seasons ago and declared he was like a sexy male version of Celestina Warbeck).

After Dudley headed home for the night, Harry and Draco headed out for patrol.

Draco stalked along silently for a while before he turned to Harry and said, “Hermione told me that Dudley and his parents used to be terrible to you.”

Chewing on his cheek, Harry took a moment to think on this. He sort of wished Hermione hadn’t said anything. It was well intentioned he knew; she didn’t mean to break his trust. And anyways, Harry had told Draco as much himself. He’d let slip about the cupboard ages ago.

Finally, Harry shrugged, “Yeah.”

Draco’s face was shadowed as he studied Harry, “Do you talk with your aunt and uncle?”

“No.”

“Why Dudley, then?”

Harry left out an uncertain huff, “Petunia and Vernon knew they were treating me terribly. They were supposed to be taking care of me, raising me. Dudley didn’t know any better than what they told him. As we got older, he clued in a bit more. You know the hearing I had summer before fifth year?”

“Yes,” Draco’s tone was cautious.

Wryly, Harry said, “I figured you’d have heard all about it. Dudley was with me. He was about two seconds away from losing his soul. It was fucking horrible. Can you imagine knowing that something was there, making you feel the way they do, but not knowing what it was? That’s why I didn’t want to talk about the dementors in front of him. During the war, the Order sent them all away, to somewhere safe. And they- they didn’t want to go. I was trying to make them understand how important it was, ended up shouting about how there were dementors around and how they’d better remember what happened to Dudley. The look on his face… He’d probably bail on his new job and stay in Little Whinging if he knew what was going on.

Anyways, once he realized it wasn’t me that’d attacked him back then and that I’d been trying to save him, he wasn’t quite so awful to me anymore. Thought I’d give him a chance. There’s something, you know, in being raised together.”

Harry had a few memories, from when they were still very young, of playing happily together with his cousin.

Draco hummed and smiled softly at Harry. “How do you do that?”

“What?”

They walked on in silence for a moment before Draco answered, “Forgive like that. Him. Me.”

Focusing on the pavement, Harry said, “Just seemed like the best option, I guess. Besides, I think it’s turned out pretty well, as far as it goes. Wait till I tell Hermione about tonight. Her soppy heart will probably explode.”

With an exaggerated eye roll, Draco bumped his shoulder against Harry’s. “You’re something else, Potter.”

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the very late update everyone. Just been busy with limited energy in my free time. I'll do my best to get back to regular once a week postings, and promise at the very least this story will be posted to completion even if I don't manage to do it on the most consistent timeline. I hope you are all staying healthy and well! 
> 
> Fun fact Dominelli (the text Draco is excited about) is a social work scholar who always seemed to have just what I needed to reference for any assignment throughout my grad degree.


	16. Letters and Scripts

The next morning, December the 30th, Draco showed up at Harry’s door.

“You know,” Harry said, eyeing Draco’s full hands with trepidation. “We have boundaries, usually. Mornings are not for work. I sleep in. I go for a run.”

Draco fixed Harry with his most unimpressed look and waved a pile of parchment at him. “I’m not here for you anyways, Potter. Can I borrow Oscar? I’ll leave you alone after that.”

“Don’t you have a whole owlery at the Manor?”

“We have five owls. They are currently occupied. So, can I borrow Oscar?”

Oscar landed on Draco’s shoulder with a soft hoot. Peering at the parchment, Harry realized it was a whole stack of letters. The top one had _Madam Pomfrey_ written in Draco’s neat handwriting on the top.

“Yessss,” Harry agreed, dragging the word out and raising his eyebrows.

With a bit of a harrumph, Draco blushed and looked down before answering Harry’s unspoken question.

“You got me thinking, last night-“

“_I did_?” Harry was not at all sure what about.

“Yes,” Draco flicked his eyes up to meet Harry’s for just a second. “About forgiveness. And, well I always knew it but was trying to avoid it, I suppose, but I realized that I have quite a lot more apologies to make than I have done so far. I mean, I apologized to Granger because I- she got a lot of the worst of it. And Madam Rosmerta because I almost certainly _should_ have gone to Azkaban for what I did to her. And you and I,” he waved a loose hand between them while staring in the direction of Harry’s feet, “we ended up wherever it is we are. But… there’s more. And I was too afraid and ashamed to do it before now because it seems I could only muster myself up for those few, but that’s really not much of an excuse is it?”

“Oh,” Harry said, taken somewhat aback by the way Draco’s rambling confession had rushed out of him.

“So, I’ve written up these letters with apologies, and a request to meet in person to do it properly if they agree. I did one for every member of the Weasley family. And for some of our classmates. These are for the professors at Hogwarts for, you know, letting _them_ in that night and generally being a pretentious prick of an adolescent. Please do not make a tremendous deal out of it.”

Harry coughed a little, rubbing at the back of his neck. He did want to make a big deal out of it, actually. Even as he and Draco were becoming close friends a small, sort of guilty, part of Harry worried that once their goal was achieved the curtain would drop and Draco would be revealed as being the same bigoted bully he was when they were younger. Another part of Harry, a part he’d never voice out loud and which had fished Daily Prophet’s out of the bin behind Wheeze’s in the weeks after the article about he and Draco, wondered if the people who’d written angry letters to the editors had been right. Perhaps he shouldn’t have forgiven Draco so easily, if only due to the principle of it all. But now Draco was, rather than taking small steps towards proper atonement, putting his full manic efforts towards reparation, which Harry couldn’t help but feel reassured by.

“So?” Draco demanded, looking challengingly up at Harry when he took too long to reply.

“Of course you can borrow Oscar,” Harry said, doing his best to keep his voice neutral.

“_No_,” Draco growled, tugging on the little ponytail he’d tied his hair back into. “Merlin forsake me, I want to know what you _think_.”

“Okay…” Harry said, thinking that Draco had specifically told him not to make a deal out of it not a minute earlier. “Well, I think it’s great. We’re friends now, and I’d much prefer it if the people I care about are on good terms. And you do owe some apologies.”

Draco nodded tensely. “Well good. Because I’ve already sent the lot meant for the Weasleys and it would be unfortunate if you’d told me it was an awful idea and that I’d do better to go fucking off to South America or something.”

At this, Oscar, who’d clung to Draco’s shoulder throughout all of it, hooted irritably.

“Yes, yes,” Draco muttered, walking over to the table to lay out the letters. “How many can you manage at once, do you think?”

As Harry watched Draco tie two to each of Oscar’s legs, he asked, “So, how did apologizing to Madam Rosmerta go?”

“She informed me that the effort was decent of me, but that she has no intention of forgiving me and that I am not welcome in the Three Broomsticks ever again. To which all I could say was, ‘I understand’ and drag my shameful self out.”

Harry clapped him on the back, for a moment at a loss for words. He understood the sick, twisting feeling of guilt and shame. Then, figuring his best move forward was one with some humour, he said, “Very Gryffindor of you, doing all this.”

Rolling his eyes, Draco let Oscar out the window with a promise that when he returned there’d be another premium treat from Eeylop’s for him.

“I was almost sorted Slytherin, you know,” Harry said casually, knowing this would gain him a good response.

Draco whipped around to face him. “Bullshit.”

“I was. Had to ask the hat ‘_please, no’_. By that point I’d already learnt that was where Voldemort had been. Anyways, it was about the ambition piece. I had a ‘thirst to prove myself’.”

A small smile turned the edges of Draco’s lips up. “Me too. Ah, well.”

“Still do,” Harry noted. “Just aiming for a better direction, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

\---

Draco was too anxious to focus on any research for the rest of the day. Instead, they walked their preferred park together, grateful for the mild weather. As he was wont to do when stressed, Draco rattled on and on while they kept up a brisk pace. An unexpected tendril of jealousy rose up in Harry as he listened to Draco praise Hermione for her thoughts and ideas on their research the other day. Before long, though, Draco had moved onto the tragic tale of the stray crup puppy he’d found in Diagon when he was six, and how he’d never been allowed one as crups were deemed too common and filthy for the Manor. Harry didn’t need to do more than insert the occasional noise of agreement, which was good because he was realizing with an uncomfortable rapidity that he had some thoughts of his own he needed to sort out.

After several hours of walking, Harry convinced Draco to sit his arse on a bench and have a falafel from a food truck, because if they kept this up their feet would be worn through and they wouldn’t be able to manage a proper patrol that evening. Just as they were gathering their rubbish for the bin, a hoot alerted them to Oscar’s return. Harry cast a surreptitious _notice-me-not charm _to deter nearby muggles and watched with interest as Oscar landed on Draco’s lap and offered him a letter sealed with the official Hogwarts crest. He sincerely hoped it wasn’t a suggestion that Draco fuck off to South America as fodder for the notoriously vicious Peruvian Vipertooth population.

Draco’s long fingers trembled slightly as he opened the letter. After several moments of silence, he turned to Harry and said, “I need to cancel patrol tomorrow evening, alright? It’s New Year’s Eve, so I assume you’ve something better to do anyways.”

Harry did not have anything better to do. Hermione and Ron had a romantic date planned, and Ginny and George intended to sequester away in the Wheeze’s lab to work on a new idea which had been keeping them busy since Boxing Day. Never mind, Harry could just go out on Patrol himself.

“Sure, of course.”

“Headmistress McGonagall said it’d be best if I come before all the students are back,” Draco explained.

“Well,” Harry replied uncertainly, “That’s alright then, isn’t it?”

Drawing in a steadying breath, Draco said, “Yeah. Yes.”

\---

When Harry headed for bed later that evening, he found Pigwidgeon sleeping on his pillow, his left leg stuck out with two small letters tied to it. Oscar flew over and gave the little owl a nuzzle. Pig replied with a sleepy hoot and wiggled his leg at Harry. Harry relieved him of his burden, ignoring the anxious squirm in his gut as he tore open one of the letters.

_Harry, _

_Thought you’d want to know- got a letter from Malfoy today. I wrote him back to say there is no way I want to sit down for some emotional healing tea time or some rubbish and that I don’t trust him. But, like I said, I trust you and Hermione, so I guess he can have a chance. Apparently he wrote to **everybody**, the blighter. _

_Ron_

Wavering unsteadily between the relief Ron’s letter brought with it and nerves about what the next one-addressed in Ginny’s hand- would hold, Harry opened the second letter.

_Harry, _

_I (and everyone else it seems) got a letter from Malfoy today. He seemed sincere enough, I suppose. I’m willing to meet with him, because I know you’d like for us all to move on. But there is no way I’m meeting with him alone. George and I were going to start working on everything at noon- any chance you could arrange for Malfoy to be at your flat at 10 and we can get this over with?_

_Gin_

The very idea of it made Harry’s stomach tie and untie itself in knots over and over. He dropped the letter on the bed and apparated to Draco’s Diagon flat in hopes that he hadn’t gone back to the Manor for the night. Usually when he was in the midst of any emotion other than refined contentment Draco avoided the Manor, so Harry figured his chances were alright.

Draco emerged from the bathroom at the sound of Harry’s apparition wearing only low slung pajama bottoms and with a toothbrush in hand.

“Harry?” He frowned in concern, “Everything alright?”

“Yeah,” Harry rubbed at his neck and looked down. “Just- uh- when are you going to Hogwarts tomorrow?”

“I’m due for tea at three o’clock…”

Harry heaved a sigh and met Draco’s eyes, no avoiding this, then. “Ginny wrote to me. She’d like to meet you tomorrow morning at my flat. With, you know, me there.”

Draco’s lips pressed thin in a grimace of understanding. “Certainly. What time?”

“Does ten o’clock work?”

“Of course,” Draco nodded slightly. “I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

Harry stepped back, preparing to apparate. “Oh, Ron wrote too,” he remembered suddenly. “Says he doesn’t want to meet you. But he’ll give you a chance.”

“Fair enough,” Draco favoured Harry with a slight smile.

“Er, yeah. Night then.”

“Good night Harry.”

Pigwidgeon was still laying, conked out, on Harry’s pillow when he went to get into bed. Oscar was nestled next to him. Harry sighed and got into the other side of the bed, hoping he could manage at least a little sleep before the morning.

\---

Draco arrived at his flat before Ginny did, looking as though he hadn’t slept at all. He glanced around Harry’s flat and his eyes widened when he realized Ginny wasn’t there.

“I should come back,” he said. “I’m too early. You should have time to greet one another without my imposing.”

Harry hadn’t slept much either, and was not interested in hearing it. “That’s ridiculous. Stay, it’s fine.”

While Harry got started with tea, Draco hovered at the edge of the kitchen, shifting from foot to foot. He had an aura of anxiety which was not helping Harry’s own state.

“Wanna talk about it?”

“Nope,” Draco replied tightly.

Draco’s tea was ready and he was clinging to it like a life raft before Ginny arrived just inside Harry’s front door at ten past. He suspected the slight tardiness was something of a power move. Harry greeted her with a peck on the cheek and then froze, uncertain if he should be facilitating introductions between the two of them or not.

“Ginerva,” Malfoy nodded his head in greeting. “Thank you for meeting me.”

How Draco knew Ginny’s full name was beyond Harry.

“Malfoy,” Ginny acknowledged.

“Tea!” Harry exclaimed. “Gin, I’ve made up some tea, why don’t you go sit down and I’ll bring it right over.”

Probably, Harry thought as he rattled a spoon around in Ginny’s tea cup, he shouldn’t be feeling this uncomfortable. This wasn’t his thing to feel uncomfortable about. This wasn’t about him. It was about Draco. And Ginny. He was only here as a sort of apology safety net. Not needed unless he’s needed. But Merlin, he hadn’t felt this absolutely uncomfortable since he sat across from Cho Chang in Madame Puddifoot’s back in fifth year.

Ginny had chosen the innermost corner of Harry’s couch, so Draco had positioned himself rigidly in the arm chair. Harry handed his girlfriend her tea and sat next to her, shifting the throw pillow several times before giving up and tossing it onto the floor.

“So,” Draco began. “I appreciate your meeting with me, because I believe that it is important to have face to face interaction in order for an apology to feel properly sincere. There are many things that I want to apologize to you for-”

“Malfoy,” Ginny said flatly. “Would you cut out the script and talk like a normal person?”

“Er…” Draco reddened.

It was pretty clear that he’d practiced. Probably over and over all night long. It definitely explained the deep purple circles under his eyes.

Rolling her eyes Ginny said, “If you can’t do it without a script, it sure seems less sincere.”

Draco sat back in his chair. “Fuck, you’re right. Okay… In no particular order I am sorry for all the times I’ve ever said anything demeaning about your family because they are leagues above the Malfoys; I’m sorry for letting Death Eaters into Hogwarts, I know it impacted you and your family in terrible ways; I’m sorry for working with Umbridge and all the shitty things I did when I was- by the way, that hex you cast on me- the one with the boogies-was really impressive; I’m sorry for how fucking awful last year was and that I was too much of a coward to do anything but go along with what was expected of me at school; and I’m so, _so_ fucking sorry that my father gave you that diary.”

It took Harry a moment to tear his eyes away from Draco to see how Ginny was going to respond. She was smirking.

“It was a bat boogey hex,” she said smugly, “and I know it was impressive.”

Draco turned to Harry a question in his eyes. Harry shrugged.

Rolling her eyes, Ginny said, “Merlin. I suppose that seemed sincere enough. And if you and Harry are friends or whatever, fine. Not like it was you who set out to get me possessed or anything.”

Draco looked deeply ashamed, “Still. I’m sorry.”

“Good.”

Draco walked over to the kitchen and placed his cup in the sink. “I’ll uh, be off then. Thank you, Ginerva.”

As he stepped out the door Ginny shouted after him, “Never call me that again Malfoy!”

He turned back and gave her a nervous smile. “Ginny, then. Thank you.”

“So,” Ginny turned to Harry once the door was closed, “that was interesting.”

Harry shrugged. Ginny studied him for a moment, with an indiscernible look. It was a little melancholic and seemed like maybe she was confirming something she’d been thinking about. She swept his hair out of his face and pressed a soft kiss to his lips.

“I’m going to head over to the shop,” she said gently.

“What? I thought you didn’t have to be there till noon. It’s only half ten.”

“It’s a big project,” Ginny explained. “We didn’t get as much done yesterday as we thought we would’ve and George’s head was in the fire first thing this morning begging me to come over as soon as I could.”

“Oh,” Harry adjusted his glasses. “Okay. Well I hope you have a good trip back to school tomorrow. See you for the next Hogsmeade weekend.”

Ginny quirked a brow up at him. “Yeah,” she said, “Valentine’s day, actually.”

“Right. Well, brilliant, then. Love you,” Harry said, giving her a kiss that felt as though it were too brisk. She didn’t pursue any more, though, just stepped back, gave a wave and apparated away.

\---


	17. Good Riddance, 1998

Harry was swept away by the music and the movement. The way Luna’s hair shimmered and how her weird earrings swung as she danced.

His friend had invited him out for New Year’s. As though she could perceive his loneliness through a disruption to the cosmic vibrations or something, she’d shown up at his door shortly after Ginny had left and suggested they go out that evening. Luna brushed off the cosmic vibrations theory when Harry asked her, saying that she just wanted to spend some time with him before she had to head back to school.

Harry had protested, feeling as though he ought to be out on patrol, especially after the attack at the park the other day. But Diggle’s notes had confirmed a bolstered Auror force given the increase of muggle foot traffic on New Year’s and the idea of walking around by himself in the dark looking for dementors wasn’t particularly appealing after the day he’d had. Hell, after the fucking _year_ he’d had.

Harry was quite tempted to write the whole year off as terrible. It had, after all, contained a significant amount of terrible events. But even though he’d spent most of it hopeless, eating scavenged mushrooms and so damp that he thought his bones might start to mold, even though he’d died (if only for a little while), even though (this weighed on him the most heavily) people he cared about had been tortured, had died, were drowning in grief… he couldn’t say the whole year was irredeemable. There was making up with Ron. There was Teddy. There was Draco… All the same, he was ready to say a hearty ‘_good riddance’ _to 1998.

He had felt just- _different _enough (he wasn’t quite certain if in a good or a bad way) that he agreed to head to a recently reopened club in Diagon Alley with Luna. With its riotous live music and kaleidoscopic lights, Harry had thrown out his I-don’t-drink rule.

“Luna,” He leaned in towards her. “Luna, you are like the moon. My moon. My friend. I am so glad you are my friend.”

She gave Harry a splendiferous grin. “And I am glad you are mine, Harry. You are one of the good ones.”

“You’re my friend,” Harry said, a dawning realization creeping through his drunken mind.

“I think you may be rather sloshed, Harry,” Luna said, her laugh tinkling out. Not laughing at him, but inviting him to laugh with her.

He did, a little. Then he said urgently, “Can I tell you a secret?”

“Of course,” Luna said crossing her heart.

Harry tugged Luna away from the throng of dancing people and to a small standing table in the back of the club. He struggled with a _muffiliato_ until Luna took pity on him and did it for him, while assuring him that even without the spell, most people weren’t attuned enough to notice their conversation.

Harry, bursting with his secret, blurted out, “I think I’m gay.”

Luna smiled softly and said, “If you _think_ you are, Harry, you probably are.” Harry mused this over for a moment before Luna added. “And that’s great, Harry. You said secret- am I the first person you’ve told?”

Harry nodded and stared out at the dance floor, the gravity of what he had just done sinking in. It was true. He was _not_ straight. And it explained a lot. Like why he always felt uncomfortable with Ginny, nervous that he was expected to put forth more than he was ready to. The reality was he was never going to be ready. And perhaps, it also explained why his stomach acted a little funny whenever Draco smiled at him in that earnest way or when he swatted Harry with the back of his hand if he couldn’t think up with a good enough come back to a teasing jab from Harry.

“I’m bi, you know.”

Turning, perhaps a little too fast, to look at Luna again Harry protested, “But you’re with Neville!”

“And last year, I was with Padma,” Luna replied generously.

“Oh. Merlin, I’m an idiot. I’m sorry Luna. For fuck’s sake I’m still with Ginny.”

A rotating rainbow of light from the club’s charms filtered over Luna.

“It’s alright, Harry. I don’t hide it or anything. You probably would have known already if you didn’t have a tendency to be… well, a little disconnected.”

Coming from Luna, this seemed a bit rich. But when Harry took a moment to think about it, he knew she was right. Luna came across a little spacey, but she was eerily perceptive. Harry, as Hermione had pointed out many a time, was inclined to hyper-focus and entirely miss the larger scheme of things. It occurred to him that Luna sharing that she didn’t hide her sexuality might have been a bit of a hint that she disapproved of Harry’s being in the closet. Or ninety percent in, anyways. Now that he had realized himself and told Luna, he supposed he had some toes and an elbow poking out, maybe.

Luna kissed him fondly on the cheek and tugged him back out onto the dance floor as the count-down for the New Year began. When she left for the night, he stayed behind and had several more drinks. With each, he felt guiltier about the fuzzy warmth that ran through his veins. Now that he was alone people kept approaching him, wanting to thank him, wanting to dance with him. Finally, he determined it was time to head home and he stumbled out onto the street.

Looking up and down Diagon Alley, he realized he was not quite sure which way to get to the Leaky Cauldron and back out into the muggle world. He was certainly too drunk to apparate safely.

“Well fuck,” He announced to the empty street. It was dark and really quite cold. In fact, Harry looked up in surprise, it was snowing. “I think I might chuck-up.”

“Potter?” A very familiar voice asked.

He whirled around to confront Draco Malfoy. Harry’s conversation with Luna floated to the surface of his mind. _Oh no. Is Draco a legilimens?_ Why hadn’t it ever occurred to him to worry about this before? If anyone he knew were one, it would be Draco. Harry, flushing, tried to push the thoughts away and replied in his most dignified tone, “Malfoy,” before turning on his heels and striding away.

“Potter!” Draco repeated, hastening his stride a little to keep pace with Harry. Harry regretfully realized he was weaving a little as he headed down the centre of the street. “Are you blasted?”

“No!”

“Merlin,” Draco huffed out a laugh. “You are, too. I thought you didn’t drink! Was that just a lie so you didn’t put yourself in a vulnerable position with the big bad wolf?”

Now Harry laughed. He stopped in his tracks and looked incredulously at Draco. “I think we’ve had this talk. You are so _far_ from a big bad wolf.”

Malfoy harrumphed. “I could be a wolf.”

“Not a scary one,” Harry retorted immediately.

“Whatever, Potter.” Harry thought vaguely that ‘whatever’ was the kind of word Draco usually avoided, for risk of sounding like a petulant preteen. “Where exactly are you going?”

“Home.”

“Not that direction, you’re not.”

“Damn.”

With a loud call, Oscar came swooping down from the rooftops and landed on Draco’s shoulder. He began to click his beak irritably, apparently expressing his upset about Harry leaving him out in the alley while he was in the club.

“Couldn’t you show Harry the way home?” Draco asked. Oscar shrieked and then flew off.

“That owl thinks he owns me,” Harry complained. He turned to look both ways down the street and pointed in the direction he’d been going, “That’s the way, yeah?”

Draco rolled his eyes dramatically and grabbed Harry’s wrist, tugging him along the opposite direction. Snowflakes had begun to gather prettily in his platinum hair. He’d been growing it out all autumn, now it brushed his shoulders and Draco, Harry thought, looked a little like a northern faerie. After a while Draco, apparently assuming that Harry would be able to follow along, let go of his wrist. A shame.

Draco slid his eyes over to Harry. “You really shouldn’t be going anywhere alone, you know. What with the dementors and all. And certainly not when you’re this incapacitated. How much did you drink anyways?”

“I dunno. A few ales, a few shots of this weird giggle juice shit Luna talked me into and a couple…four firewhiskeys.”

“Merlin. That’s too much for someone who doesn’t drink.”

“I’m already regret,” Harry reassured Draco. Draco’s lips pulled up at the corners as if he had a private joke he wasn’t going to share. How irritating.

Draco guided Harry through the Leaky Cauldron, which was so jam packed that no one even seemed to notice them edging along the perimeter of the main room, and out onto the streets of muggle London. Harry had to wrap his arm around Draco’s shoulders to make it up the stairs to his flat. When Draco finally deposited Harry onto his couch he said, “I’ll see you tomorrow with a hangover potion you giant dunce.”

“Wait!” Harry exclaimed, remembering something urgent. “How was ‘Ogwarts?”

With a gentle small, Draco said softly, “Good. It went well.”

“Good!” Harry declared, before resting his head on his arms and watching Draco let himself out of the flat. He fell asleep with a smile playing around his lips.

\---

“Are you stalking me? Awfully convenient that you showed up last night in the same place as me, just when I was finally alone.” Harry teased half-heartedly before tossing back the hangover cure. He held his hand up to his mouth to cover that he gagged a little. It was really quite vile. Oscar hooted in concern and Harry gave him a reassuring pat.

“I don’t think that’s how you should be treating your saviour.”

“_My_ saviour?”

“Yes,” Draco answered imperiously, glaring down at Harry who was slumped on the couch in his clothes from the previous night. “I saved you from getting lost in the streets of London _and_ having to suffer through a hangover. You. Are. Welcome.”

“_Thank you_,” Harry said saccharinely before adding (because he thought Draco was having some fun with it), “I just thought it was a little odd you turned up right there in the streets at just the moment I was walking them.”

“You mean in the centre of Wizarding London? Where I have a flat that was- I’m not exaggerating even a little here, Potter- ten metres from where you were drunkenly stumbling around? And _stalking?_” Malfoy scoffed, “We see each other every day voluntarily. Don’t act like I bullied you into it.”

Harry gave Draco a look that indicated that is exactly what he thinks happened. He asked, “Why were you at the flat instead of the Manor, then? And why’d you have to bang on my door like that instead of just apparating into my flat?”

Draco gave him that ‘_are you dense?’_ look, “I didn’t fancy heading back to the Manor after an emotionally taxing evening. And you haven’t added me to your wards, Potter.”

“Yes I have! Weeks ago…” Harry’s eyes went blank as he struggled to remember telling Malfoy about that. He’d added Draco immediately after finding him tucked up against his door, distraught about the Prophet article, feeling very much that he never wanted to see Draco look so alone ever again.

With a snort, Draco replied, “So much for the welcome party.”

“Now you know,” Harry said. Then he grimaced with a dawning realization. “Are we going to be in the papers again? I’m sorry. Fuck.”

Draco smiled softly and shrugged a little. “I cast a _notice-me-not_, so with any luck, no. I certainly wasn’t going to let you stumble around easy pickings for the dementors anyways. And… I’m finally trying to get back the respect of the people I respect. Maybe it doesn’t matter so much what everyone else thinks. My father cared very much about his public image, but it was all about having the power to influence. And it was awful.”

“Oh…” Harry said, dumbfounded. Draco was beginning to look embarrassed, so he shifted, “Well, that knock was cruel. It was a knock meant to inflict pain.”

In reality, Harry _was_ appreciative for the guidance home and, especially, the hangover cure. When Draco first knocked on his door ten minutes ago, though,Harry thought the pounding noise would cause him to vomit. He’d flicked his wand at the door to allow Draco entry and buried his face back into his couch to drown out the light of day. He regretted his choice to drink on a physical, mental, emotional and _spiritual _level.

“Anyhow…I think I’m going to stick to being the only eighteen year old Brit who doesn’t drink,” Harry determined.

“Good.” Draco answered matter-of-factly. “I found that odd quirk of yours somewhat endearing, gods know why. Now go clean yourself up. You’re disgusting.”

Harry obediently shuffled off to fetch new clothes and hop in the shower. He consciously repressed his memories of the conversation with Luna from the previous evening, and determined that he would act completely normally around Malfoy until he figured out what the hell he was going to do about it all. Harry left his bathroom feeling as though he’d washed off layers of regret and found a full English breakfast plated and waiting on his breakfast bar, accompanied by a cup of pitch black tea. Apparently, Draco wasn’t going to make it easy for Harry to push forth as though nothing had changed for him.

“Beautiful,” He pronounced when he caught Draco’s nervous eye. “I think you might be my best mate now. D’you think Ron’d be upset if I dumped him by owl?”

Oscar flew to land next to Harry. Harry ruffled his feathers affectionately. “Thanks, but I was just joking. I’m not sending you to dump Ron.”

“Just eat, Potter,” Draco said scathingly, though he looked a little pleased.

Draco’s cooking could have used some spice, and the eggs were a little overcooked, but overall Harry was impressed with his efforts. Draco, after all, had never really had to cook for himself. That he’d made the effort for Harry was… something. It was something.

By the time he was half done his meal, Harry could no longer ignore the shrewd look Draco was sending his way.

With a heavy sigh, eyes intent on his plate, he said, “The first couple of times I drank after everything… I decided it might be a little too convenient of a coping mechanism. Sirius had had a bit of a problem and I dunno…” Harry shrugged, uncomfortable.

“You’re never one for the convenient way,” Draco acknowledged quietly. “Not if it’s the wrong way.”

Harry dragged his eyes up to meet Draco’s, “I wasn’t in a great place last night.” Draco quirked up an eyebrow and he rushed to add, “And no, I’m not going to tell you about it.”

“Okay,” Draco said simply, digging back into his own meal.

“So,” Harry asked, “Tell me about Hogwarts.”

Draco glanced at him, “I did the rounds with nearly every professor that was there when we were. Ginny had a good point about being overly scripted; it was helpful, actually. They were mostly receptive. McGonagall mentioned they’re still in need of a more permanent Defence Against the Dark Arts professor. Right now it’s a bloke named Proudfoot, who took a leave from the Aurors to fill in for a year or two, but seems it was on the promise that they’d find someone else.”

Harry hummed, Draco was apparently no more inclined to talk about his evening than Harry was. “I know Proudfoot. Did you get any other replies?”

With a sigh, Draco said, “A few others agreed to meet me. George wrote to inform me that all the Weasleys talk to one another, so that was awkward.”

Harry snorted. “The Weasleys are the nicest people to walk the earth, I’m sure you can live with some friendly gossip.”

Blushing, Draco pushed his eggs around his plate. “I can see why you fit with them so well. You’ve all got that remarkably forgiving trait. Bill Weasley said in his letter that his scars match his general aesthetic and that he liked his meat rare anyhow.” With a disbelieving huff he added, “I genuinely don’t understand.”

“You forgave me,” Harry pointed out. “And I just about killed you. Makes me sick to think about it.”

“I was about to torture you,” Draco whispered staring at his eggs in despair.

“I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t have managed, actually,” Harry replied. “I tried to cast in on Bellatrix once, and she told me you really have to mean it. And then I actually did cast it, the day of the battle. That Carrow bloke spat at McGonagall. Anyways, Bellatrix was right. You’ve got to mean it.”

Draco had turned back to Harry, his brows steadily rising.

“You,” Harry asserted, “didn’t mean it.”

Narrowing his eyes, Draco said, “You didn’t know what that spell was going to do.”

“No. But still. I… still.”

“Well,” Draco replied, staring at Harry with an expression that was uninterpretable. “There was never any question about forgiving _you_.”

Harry’s throat caught as Draco took a deep breath squared his shoulders and turned to face Harry head on.

“I realized over the last couple of days,” Draco said quietly, eyes troubled but steady on Harry’s, “that I’ve never properly apologized to you. And I hardly have the right, but I am sorry, Harry. I hope you know that.”

“I do,” Harry replied instantly.

They sat, eyes locked for a long moment that felt painfully precarious, before Harry awkwardly turned back to his breakfast and proceeded to numbly finish his sausages.

\---


	18. Flying, Falling, Failing

The month of January was contradictory, in that it seemed to both fly by and drag on. Harry, who knew he was inclined to angst in general, felt constricted by his feelings, his life, and his body. A general sense of unease lived somewhere between his lungs and his lower abdomen, which just grew in intensity the more he tried to ignore it. Having confessed his secret to Luna- a secret Harry hadn’t even realized to be true until it had spilled out of his drunken mouth- Harry was entirely uncertain what to do with himself.

It was ridiculous to think that he was trapped by his own future at eighteen years of age. But he had a path laid out in front of him. Marry Ginny, have kids, raise them alongside Ron and Hermione’s kids. Make a career of doing anything he wants, where he would be guaranteed respect because he was already revered for his role in the war. The general expectation was that he’d be an Auror, of course. Once in a while Harry would remember Professor McGonagall facing down Umbridge and declaring that she’d do whatever it took to get Harry through the required NEWTS to do just that.

When he thought about it all, Harry wanted to fight against the expectations restraining him. He’d never had much of a choice about his life.

But he _had_ chosen Ron and Hermione. Ginny. He’d chosen the Weasleys as his family. Thinking of the fall out that would result from his coming out made Harry sick. He did love Ginny, and didn’t want to hurt her. It would probably destroy his relationship with Ron, and leave Hermione stuck in the middle, which was hardly fair. Molly would be heartbroken, she’d made enough comments about Harry being her son.

He was pretty sure that he ought to act the proper Gryffindor and end things with Ginny, but he couldn’t do that by owl and he wouldn’t be able to see her until the next Hogsmeade weekend. It was bullshit that the eighth years were allowed off castle grounds whenever they had free time but that the seventh years, despite being of age, weren’t allowed the liberty.

And beyond that first step… what would he do? Start dating? He had no idea where to begin with such a prospect, and he certainly didn’t fancy the idea of putting himself out there for the Prophet to scandalize over. They’d already been conjecturing about problems in his relationship with Ginny and an affair with Draco since the article in December and it left Harry feeling exposed and dirty.

On top of all of that, he couldn’t get Draco out of his mind and felt as though he were reliving his sixth year at Hogwarts, just with a new twist. It did nothing but fuel his guilt and self-directed anger. He did his best to tamp it all down and focus on the whole point of their time together- finding a way to destroy the dementors. More often than not, though, their work looked like laughing together over take out, and Harry hiding a blush as Draco’s graceful fingers turned a page, or paying too much attention to the curves of his shoulders and arse when he walked in front of Harry on patrol.

If he wondered about Draco, well, it wouldn’t amount to anything anyways. Certainly his enemy-turned-friend was attractive. Harry sincerely hoped Draco would never find out that he played a not-unimportant role in Harry’s realizing he was gay. But Draco was probably straight. How did other gay men identify one another, Harry wondered desperately.

Draco looked at Harry with a little extra warmth in his eyes, sometimes. But any more than Hermione when she looked at Harry? Any more than Draco would hold for Pansy? And the two of them, beyond the few moments where one of them had been particularly distraught, were very cautious to avoid physical contact. Too cautious, perhaps. Harry had become tensely aware of Draco’s proximity to himself. If he were being honest, he’d probably always been conscious of it.

While in December- with the exception of the attack on Draco and Teddy- it had seemed the dementors were slowing down, they were now back with vigour. Harry and Draco had to fend off a dementor at least every other night. To Harry’s great embarrassment, he was struggling to conjure his patronus while Malfoy’s big cat was growing in strength and nearly always arrived on the first casting attempt. After the dementors fled Harry would focus on divvying up a chocolate bar between them, avoiding Draco’s curious gaze. The problem, Harry knew, was that he spent most of their patrols ruminating.

One morning he arrived unannounced in Kingsley’s office, insisting that the problem was worsening.

“I’ve got a team working out how to banish them back to Azkaban, Harry. Shouldn’t be long now,” The Minister had reassured in his deep voice.

All of Harry’s unease was highlighted by the fact that they were making barely any progress in their research. They’d combed through every relevant book that Draco could find in Malfoy Manor, Flourish and Blotts, the somewhat seedy Tales and Tails shop in Knockturn Alley, the texts Hermione sent along from Hogwarts, and of course, those books that Rutherford had been able to procure thus far. Nothing had given them any ideas beyond their failed efforts with the Talisman. As Draco talked his way circuitously through their notes, Harry found himself more and more frustrated. If Harry ever voiced doubts, Draco insisted that Rutherford nearly had his hands on the book they _really _needed and would surely be sending it along soon.

At least Harry could find some relief in the handful of research sessions which were cancelled by Draco when someone took him up on the offer to apologize in person. Since doing the rounds at Hogwarts Draco had apologized to Arthur and Molly, Luna Lovegood, Dean Thomas, and Fleur Delacour.

Draco had been the most nervous about Molly and Arthur and Harry had had to remind him that they were the ones who’d raised all of the siblings who’d already forgiven him. Draco came home with a new scarf after having received a lecture that he swore would have scared him straight if he’d heard it back in sixth year- never mind his father. Luna, overflowing with grace, had apparently made it easy for Draco. Dean had told Draco to go fuck himself. Draco told Harry that the hardest part of the conversation with Fleur was that she told him his accent when speaking French was ghastly.

“I’ll never tell mother about _that _bit of feedback, obviously. But,” Draco said with a pleased little smile, “she said we could meet for tea once a month to practice.”

When Harry next had dinner at the Weasley’s Fleur had told him she’d actually given Draco quite the interrogation, and had been impressed with the poise with which he responded.

Three weeks into January, Draco apparated right into Harry’s flat positively beaming. His hair was windswept and his cheeks were red. He carried a distinct smell of the cold outdoors with him.

“Hi,” Harry said numbly, setting his piece of toast down onto its plate on the coffee table.

“You’ll never believe it, Harry,” Draco said, bursting with enthusiasm.

“What?”

Harry was pretty certain that Draco had been to see Hagrid that morning, as he’d been away visiting Madame Maxime during Draco’s earlier visit to Hogwarts. Harry had also been feeling pretty _uncertain_ about how it would go. Hagrid was one of the most generous people Harry knew. But Draco was a horrifically disrespectful student and had been the driving influence behind Buckbeak’s death sentence.

“I flew with a Hippogriff!”

Harry’s brows flew up, “You _what_?”

“I mean, Professor Hagrid wasn’t too keen to meet with me. Told me that if he were being honest he only did because the headmistress had thought it was worth it to give me the chance. And that prophet article, back in December. Actually, he sort of… threatened me, I think. He really cares about you, you know?”

“Yeah…” Harry brows had made their way into a frown of confusion.

“Anyways, I really laid it out for him. Which was terribly embarrassing. Apologized profusely. Explained, not that it’s any excuse, that I was really just prejudiced and frightened and trying to cover it all up with a load of excuses. And that if I had my way I wouldn’t have taken Care of Magical Creatures- and not because of him mind, but because I’m not a great fan of fangs and claws, you know. Owls are alright, and crups. But I don’t even really like cats, much. I only took his class because I certainly couldn’t take Divination or Muggle Studies with my parents approval and I needed a second option.

And he laughed at me. I suppose I deserved it. He made me walk into the forest with him. Of course, I went. I was only a little nervous. But then he talked me through properly introducing myself to a hippogriff. Told me he picked the calmest of the herd- her name was Ironclaw, which doesn’t sound gentle at all, but she was _beautiful_. She bowed back to me and then Hagrid suggested I go for a flight. It was… wow. You know, I suppose.”

Harry blinked. He wasn’t sure he could manage to physically form words, even if his scrambling thoughts came up with anything coherent. He tried to hitch his expression into something pleased and supportive.

“What?” Draco asked, a look of worry on his face, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Harry grinded out. Apparently he had managed more of a look of pain than of support. Malfoy wasn’t going to make any of this easy for Harry, was he? He just wanted his life to carry on as it was meant to, and here was Draco bloody Malfoy, glowing with exhilaration and pride for making amends and overcoming his fears.

“Bollocks. What is the matter with you lately?” Draco began to use his crisp, business-matter tone of voice, which Harry knew he would not be able to withstand for long.

Flushing, Harry replied, “Just have got a headache, that’s all.”

With a frown, Draco said, “No. You’re lying. You’re not great at it either.” He hesitated a moment, before continuing more quietly, “I- I thought you’d be happy that I’m doing this.”

“What? Of course I am- for fuck’s sake Malfoy, not everything is about you, you know?” He ignored the look of hurt on Draco’s face and plowed on. “But we are spending all day every day together and making absolutely no progress. Which is frustrating, to be honest.”

“Right. Well… We can take a break, then. The research is at a bit of a standstill, that’s true. And I can do a patronus now, so I’m perfectly fine to do patrols on my own.”

He apparated away before Harry had a chance to work himself around to regret. By eight o’clock that evening Harry had apparated into the Diagon flat with a sheepish look and an apology.

\---

They went right back to their regular routine of research in the afternoons, a break for dinner, and meeting again for patrols. Harry was more at war with himself than he’d ever been, and berated himself for it. Wasn’t the angst of his troubled youth supposed to be over by now?

For the first several days after Harry had snapped, Draco seemed to be particularly cautious about what he said to him. But towards the end of the week, he’d fix Harry with searching looks and heave pointed sighs. Finally, on Friday afternoon, Draco snapped the text in front of him shut and chided, “_Harry._”

Harry ignored him, running his finger along the lines of text in front of him as if to prove that he was indeed, reading.

“Harry, you haven’t argued with me over the last biscuit all week. You’ve been quieter than I’ve ever heard you, including all those years we hated each other. And when you do say something its either irritable or sulky. What is going on with you?”

“I’m fine.”

Draco raised his brows.

“Get that condescending look off your face, Malfoy.”

Rolling his eyes, Draco said, “It’s not as though I expect to be your closest confidant or anything, Harry, but you are sort of worrying me lately.”

“Really?” Harry felt his brows pull together in surprise.

“Really,” Draco looked as though he had a lot more to say about it, but perhaps figured to err on the side of caution.

With a deep sigh that worked to push away some of Harry’s tension and with eyes fixedly on the grain of the table between them Harry asked, “Do you ever feel as though you don’t deserve the good things in your life?”

“All the time,” Draco replied in a whisper.

Harry chewed on the inside of his cheek until the tang of blood filled his mouth. “Me too. But if I ever mention it to anyone they always say, ‘_Of course you do, Harry_!”

“If you tell me more, I promise I won’t say that,” Draco said wryly.

“After everything… Well, even before that since I first learnt who I really was and came to Hogwarts people think they know me. Know who I am. They think I’m perfect. It makes me terrified to mess anything up. Like I’ll disappoint so many people.” Once Harry had begun it seemed to spill right out. “It’s not really the people who just see me as some sort of saviour that I’m worried about, obviously. It’s the people who _actually_ know about me, who _actually_ care about me. But all the others, it just sort of adds to the pressure. And Draco, people _died_ for me….”

“Let me tell you something,” Draco said in such a practical, unaffected tone that Harry had to look up at him in surprise. His expression was empathetic, a soft smile on his lips. “You’re framing it all wrong in your mind. No one died for you. They died for their freedoms. For their loved ones. If you were one of those loved ones, then you were just a _factor_ in their choices. And as for messing things up… If Hagrid, and the Weasleys and Lovegood, and all of these people who care so much about you can forgive _me_ for _my _fuck ups, well it seems pretty likely that those people who actually care about _you_ to begin with will be able to forgive you for any of yours.”

Setting his glasses on the table, Harry buried his face in his hands and took a shuddering breath. “You know,” he said through his palms, “I spent my entire childhood and every summer being blamed and punished for anything that ever went wrong whether or not I had anything to do with it. It was like mental whiplash every time I went back to school. I was always grateful that McGonagall didn’t play favourites.”

“Don’t forget Snape.” Harry was chuckling a little when Draco added, “It might not be quite the same, but I can relate to a bad childhood, Harry. I have an idea,” he leaned across the table towards Harry, eyes twinkling. “We’ve done enough research for the afternoon and its really only four o’clock. Flying always makes me feel better. Seeker’s game?”

They arrived in the middle of a competition standard Quidditch pitch. It was chilly, with a thin layer of snow coating the hard packed ground beneath them. Above, though, the sky was a perfect, clear blue and the sun was at a challenging height for seekers. Harry turned to see a large white building about a kilometer away.

“Are we at the Manor?” Harry asked, bemused.

“Don’t worry, mum sticks to the far wing of the manor and even if she looked out a west facing window, she’d never be able to properly see us.”

“You have your own _Quidditch pitch_?!”

Draco nodded and led them to the storage locker set in the northern base of the stands. He pulled out a couple of identical brooms and passed one to Harry with a perfunctory, “You won’t mind borrowing an old 2001, will you?” He popped open a small box and let a golden snitch loose. They both watched it zip away towards the sun.

Harry mounted the broom and kicked off, leaving Draco behind. He found himself laughing at the sheer relief of being in the air, leaving everything else behind. Unfortunately, the high was not meant to last. Draco won best of five, having extended their match from best of three when he felt badly for Harry after catching the snitch the first two games in a row.

“It’s not fair,” Harry protested, “I haven’t played in nearly two years and you’re probably out here doing drills every morning.”

Regardless, Harry felt more grounded and a little more clear on what he was going to do moving forward when they touched back down.

\---

Just over a week into February, Draco looked exhaustedly at a dumpling from their late lunch, it was slipping through his chopsticks and when it finally plopped back into the takeout container he was holding, he sighed heavily.

“That’s enough,” Harry said firmly, “No more texts and no patrol this evening.”

Draco looked up at him, surprised.

“We haven’t spotted an actual dementor in a week,” Harry said. “And there hasn’t been a case of a muggle being kissed since December. Maybe that surge in January was just a fluke. Maybe the Ministry really has managed. The city won’t fall into ruin around us if we play hooky for one night.”

He didn’t add that Draco looked like shite and clearly needed a break. While Harry had been feeling a fair bit better since talking through a censored version of his feelings with Draco, Draco had been looking more and more fatigued by the day.

Chewing on his retrieved dumpling, Draco regarded Harry with narrowed eyes. Then he nodded. “Fine. Film?”

Harry banished Draco’s books to the breakfast bar, and pulled out a stack of VHS he had picked up from the rental place. Draco sifted through them, picking out Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure. He generally preferred action, but Harry suspected that Draco was too exhausted for anything explosion heavy. 

With all the lights off and the curtains closed, the light from the telly screen threw Draco’s features into sharp relief. Harry found himself watching Draco nearly as much as the movie, enjoying the way his eyes lit and his lips curved up when there was a particularly clever joke. Whenever there was a joke that Draco picked up on but didn’t quite understand, lacking the muggle context, he would turn to Harry with a questioning look. Harry would pause the movie and explain, pleased to think how far Draco had come from the snide pureblood elitist he’d been in school.

As the credits began to roll, Draco turned to Harry with a laugh brightening his face. “That movie was _brilliant_.”

Harry couldn’t resist himself and responded in an entirely inappropriate way. He rotated on the couch to face Draco and asked, “Hey Draco… you and Pansy… are you, er together?”

Unlike Harry, Draco rarely talked about the other people in his life. Harry knew that beyond his mother, Pansy was the only person Draco was close to. Wondering about the full extent of their relationship had been a regular feature in Harry’s self-torment over the last weeks.

Draco’s eyes widened, he dropped his gaze to his lap, where he twisted his fingers. Harry watched his profile with held breath. The moment- the two of them sitting a foot apart dimly lit by the blue screen while some muggle rock song played as the credits rolled- felt strangely intimate. Perhaps wonderfully so.

“No…” Draco whispered. “Actually- I’m, uhm, gay.”

Harry’s heart jumped into his throat as Draco, still oriented towards the telly, turned his face towards Harry’s, apprehension writ across his features.

Harry closed the gap between them, wrapped a hand around the nape of Draco’s neck, and kissed him. After a moment, Draco began to kiss him back. Harry shifted on the couch for better balance, and Draco wended his hands into Harry’s hair. Heart aching in the most delightful way, Harry noticed that Draco had let out a quiet whimper.

Then Harry pulled abruptly away, dropping his hands away from Draco. Who in turn, hurriedly let go of Harry.

“I- I have a girlfriend!” Harry blurted, feeling horrified that he had kissed Draco while Ginny was off at Hogwarts believing she had some amazing boyfriend in London, loyally waiting. _This_ was not how Harry had planned to deal with everything.

Draco stood, lips pressed so thin they were barely visible. He summoned his books into his arms and strode to the door of the flat. “You kissed _me_, Potter,” he said tersely, closing the door just a fraction too hard behind him as Harry sat on the couch and watched him go, awash in misery.

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Comments welcome :)


	19. Bloody Valentine's Day

Standing tucked away behind a tree was somewhat cowardly, Harry had to admit. Oscar was sitting atop the tree eyeing Harry with concern. But Harry needed to spend the minutes he waited for Ginny in a more productive way than graciously greeting and making small chat with an endless line of star struck Hogwarts students. Draco- if he and Harry were still on speaking terms-would say he was being conceited, but Harry had dealt with it all the last time he visited Ginny for a Hogsmeade weekend and it was much worse than he had expected it to be. After a long enough wait for Harry to have to refresh his warming charm, Ginny strolled leisurely through the gate.

Her relaxed demeanor kicked Harry’s nerves up several notches. Ginny peeked around some trees on the wrong side of the path before spotting Harry. He waved awkwardly. She smiled and stretched up to give him a kiss. It took a conscious effort to not stiffen up and actually reciprocate the kiss a little. It would likely be their last, he ought to do that much, he figured.

They headed to the Hogs Head, where, even if the patrons took note of Harry, they were generally left alone. Aberforth rolled his eyes when he plunked down a black tea in front of Harry and gently passed Ginny a mulled mead. Tugging the corner of his cloak up, Harry wiped spilled tea from the table before interlocking his fingers and resting them on the surface. Then he realized that was an entirely awkward thing to do with his hands, he must look as if he were interviewing Ginny. He brought them underneath the table and wiped them on his thighs instead.

Ginny sipped her mead silently. Best get it over with, Harry decided. He’d spent much of the night thinking about what he was going to say to her. With an apprehensive scan of their surroundings, Harry cast a quick _muffiliato_. He hated having to do this in public most of all, but they didn’t really have any other options with Hogsmeade weekends being the only time they could actually see one another.

“Gin,” He began, voice already apologetic.

She nodded, with sorrowful eyes and a gentle smile. It reminded him of the day of Dumbledore’s funeral, when Harry told her they couldn’t be together any longer. He had barely needed to say anything – she had understood what he needed to do from the get-go.

“You’re amazing, truly. You’ve been nothing but patient and supportive and wonderful.”

“But?” Ginny asked, with those too understanding eyes.

“The thing is… I’m pretty sure I’m gay. No, I am. Sure. And Gay.” Ginny winced a little. Harry wasn’t sure if it was due to his revelation or how awkwardly he’d spat it out. “I’m sorry,” he added.

She stared at her mead for a moment before meeting Harry’s eyes intently. “Harry,” she said, “it’s alright. Really.”

“Is it? I- I led you on for all this time and- It’s bloody Valentine’s day. I am the _worst_ and-”

With a small, sad laugh, Ginny interrupted, “Honestly Harry, I didn’t quite understand _why_ but I knew things between us weren’t clicking like they should. Like I expected. I had thought it was because of the stress of the war before, and the grief after, but…” She trailed off with a shrug.

“Oh.” Harry gulped at his tea, feeling desperate for its warmth in his gut. “You deserve so much better than that Ginny.”

She reached for the hand that was wrapped tightly around his tea cup and pried his fingers off to hold in her own. With a firm squeeze she said, “Yes. So do you, Harry.” After a moment, she asked, “Now I don’t suppose you’ve told Ron or Hermione yet, have you?”

The thought of coming out to any more people today sort of made Harry want to vomit. Ginny, however, downed the rest of her butterbeer and pulled Harry to his feet. She walked him to Madam Puddifoot’s and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“It’s all good, Harry!” She pronounced, almost insultingly cheerful, before strolling away.

Harry entered the tea shop feeling distinctly out of place. Hermione caught his eye and must have seen something on his face because she immediately looked concerned and waved him over. Unfortunately his friends were tucked into a romantic back corner of the shop, and Harry had to weave through cozy tables for two covered with lacey, pink table clothes topped with blooms in pale pink and white. Charmed cupids fluttered around the rooftop tossing out heart shaped confetti. Fucking Valentine’s Day. The last time he had been in here was with Cho. Thinking of Cho reminded him of Cedric.

He simply could not say the words “I’m gay” in such an oppressive atmosphere.

When he reached Ron and Hermione, Harry plunked down some galleons and muttered, “Sorry for interrupting your date, can we go for a walk?”

Ron and Hermione shared a look laden with meaning and followed Harry out of the shop and down the street, Ron peppering him with questions until Hermione elbowed him sharply in the side. When they’d made it up behind the Shrieking Shack to the top of the hill, where Harry would be able to clearly see anyone approaching, he stopped. He cast a surely unnecessary _muffiliato_ and spent a few minutes tamping the snow down with his boots before looking back up at his friends. He spent a few more watching Oscar fly gracefully from the trees on one side of the hill to the other again and again, clearly pleased to be out and about rather than forced to stay at home.

When Harry finally turned towards his friends, Hermione looked as though she were barely restraining herself from wrapping him up in a hug and encouraging Harry to cry it out. Ron had a small frown and was nibbling on his bottom lip.

After drawing a slow breath, Harry said, “I’ve just broken up with Ginny. By, er, coming out to her.”

“Coming out?” Ron said too loudly for Harry’s comfort.

Hermione let out a soft, “_Oh_.” It was the sort of “oh” that Hermione does whenever she figures out a puzzle. Harry sought her gaze, which was slightly glazed over and flickering back and forth as though she were mentally flipping through a book, reviewing past chapters.

“So you’re gay?” Ron asked tentatively.

“Yes.”

Harry’s heart clenched a little. He was quite certain that Hermione would be alright with it. However terrible it made him feel to doubt his friend, he couldn’t help but be a little worried about how Ron would react, though. They’d spent seven years sharing rooms, changing in front of each other and the like. Ron grew up in a household of rowdy boys, most of whom (Percy being, perhaps, a bit of an exception) were quite traditionally masculine. Harry had never heard Ron say anything negative about anyone openly queer, but…

“How long have you known?”

Stomach dropping, Harry shrugged, “I probably have kinda always known. But known undeniably for sure? Just the last maybe six weeks…”

Hermione had brought herself back to the present and was cautiously watching her two friends.

Ron’s lips twisted a little before he replied, “I just… I hope you didn’t feel like this was something you had to hide from me for all this time.”

Harry ran his hand through his hair and began to laugh, giddy with relief. “So, you’re not freaked out, then?”

“Merlin, no!” Ron scoffed. “C’mere you bleeding idiot.” Ron tugged Harry into a tight hug. “You ok? Is Ginny ok? Wait it’s bloody Valentine’s Day you tosser! Oh god, if you botched the break-up conversation and didn’t let her down easy and she’s off somewhere devastated I might have to murder you a little. You know what? I might need to anyways! It’s Valentine’s Day- you couldn’t wait?”

“Ron,” Hermione scolded.

“No,” Harry grinned, “she’s good I think. She walked me right up to Madam Puddifoot’s and basically pushed me through the door to have this chat with you. And I know I am the worst. But I had to have the conversation in person and I didn’t think I could wait until the next Hogsmeade weekend. And Gin’s not exactly the type to give a care about something like Valentine’s day.”

When Ron released Harry, Hermione gathered him up, her hair swallowing most of Harry’s face.

“We love you, you know,” she whispered firmly.

“I know,” he replied, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek. “Love you, too.”

Pulling away and regarding him in an assessing manner, Hermione asked briskly, “So it’s Draco, right?”

Harry choked on the cold air. He may have continued his coughing fit for longer than strictly necessary before replying, “Pardon?”

Hermione rolled her eyes, the huff she released misting into the air. “The reason you’ve become certain about your sexuality only these last few months?”

“Malfoy?” Ron yelped.

“No. No it is not.”

“Harry, it’s fine!” She rolled her eyes again. “Honestly. He’s really been making an effort to turn things around, we can all see that. And after all this time I would hope everyone is able to grow past our schoolyard rivalries.”

Harry suspected the only reason that last bit had any truth to it was because Hermione wasn’t in direct competition with Draco for head of the class any longer. Instead of pointing that out, he replied in a surly tone, “Keep rolling your eyes like that they might get stuck you know.”

“That,” Hermione said condescendingly, “Is an old wives tale.”

“Not if I jinx them stuck,” he muttered.

“Merlin’s dirty pants, Hermione’s right!” Ron exclaimed.

In a moment of sheer infantile revenge, Harry flicked his wand subtly to send a shower of snow into Ron’s face. He sputtered for a moment, before melting into hysterical laughter. Harry crossed his arms and glared.

Finally, Ron said, “I can see it! I can’t believe it, but I see it! Malfoy is totally your type. He’s sarcastic and quick and stubborn. He won’t get all gooey eyed over you being the _saviour_ of the Free Wizarding World. And there’s no way he’d let you wallow for too long when you get in one of your guilty moods. And he’s athletic, to boot.”

“Ron, I find it a little insulting that you throw athletic in at the end like that’s what’s truly important,” Hermione sniffed.

Harry, who felt like Ron’s assessment was a little too on spot snapped, “Yeah, well, we aren’t talking.”

Ron had wrapped his arms around Hermione apologetically, and her teeth chattered a little in the cold. They both looked at him with concern.

Huffing, Harry said, “Let’s continue this conversation in the Hog’s Head.”

Aberforth snorted at Harry when he re-entered the pub, followed by Ron and Hermione. Once they were tucked back into the booth Harry had shared with Ginny earlier, tea and hot ciders between them, Harry cast yet another _muffiliato_.

“I should’ve paid the Half-Blood Prince his weight in galleons for that spell. Dead useful. Even given some of the other… issues… with his notes.”

Hermione clearly took efforts to restrain herself from comment on that before saying, “We’re all ears, Harry.”

“Not much to say,” he shrugged. “We kissed. I freaked out. He left. I haven’t seen him in a week.”

Throughout the week Harry had been going on some very lonely solo patrols. Luck appeared to be on his side because he’d only encountered one dementor and he’d managed a solid enough patronus despite everything.

“Okay- first off, you _kissed _him before you broke up with Ginny? That’s really shite of you. And second-how often _were_ you seeing him?” Ron asked, brows raised in a strange wiggle of incredulity.

“I know, Harry said sincerely. “It was impulsive and stupid and not at all what I meant to happen. And seeing him? We, uh.” Harry scratched his head, embarrassed, “Working on the dementor problem…Every day, for a while there.”

Harry had no intention of telling Ron that he had been seeing Draco daily since November. He’d been very cautious to _not_ disclose that piece of information to Ron back in December when he first fessed up about working with Draco to begin with.

The look on Ron’s face confirmed that Harry’s lie by omission was the right choice.

“_Every day_?”

He nodded. “And I’ve gone and fucked it right up. You want to know the worst part? _I’m_ the one who kissed _him_. And then freaked out.”

“Harry,” Hermione said softly, “We all freak out sometimes. I sent a flock of birds after Ronald, that once. Surely it can’t have been that bad?”

“He’s a prideful git, so I don’t think to him it matters if it was that bad.”

Ron held a large hand up in between them, “Hold up. Are you sure Malfoy is gay? Or bi, I guess?”

“I am sure,” Harry heaved a frustrated sigh, “because he told me right before I _kissed him_. And then freaked out, told him I had a girlfriend and sat frozen as he fled my apartment after reminding me in a very cold voice that _I kissed him_.” He thumped his head down on the table before questioning whether he wanted to succumb to such dramatics.

Hermione pet Harry’s head gently. “Perhaps you ought to clear things up with him, then?”

“Yes,” Harry said into the table. “Well, he won’t come by my place anymore. And I had some things to deal with first.”

“Mate, you’ve dealt with them!” Ron said, “You’ve got to go get him!”

Ron’s enthusiasm shocked Harry into lifting his head up and gaping openly. As much time as Harry had spent worrying about Ron’s reaction to his being gay, he’d spent just about twice as much worrying about Ron’s reaction to the fact that he was not only spending so much time with, but developing feelings for Draco. Perhaps Ron had gotten all his outrage out when he’d first learnt that Harry had spent voluntary time with Malfoy. Probably, Malfoy’s efforts with the rest of the Weasley’s had won Ron over a little.

“Seriously,” Ron said. “I danced around how I felt about Hermione for so long and wasted all this time we could have been happy together. It was bloody stupid, one of us literally could have died in a war. Go talk to him!”

Hermione swooned over Ron for a moment before turning back to Harry, “He’s right, you know.”

Despite having felt as though he did not have the energy to come out to Ron and Hermione after his conversation with Ginny, Harry left the Hog’s Head filled with a sense of purpose. It was too early in the day to go searching for Draco. It was Sunday and he was probably just headed to see his father.

And Harry was on a roll and intended to maintain it. So he headed up to Hagrid’s hut, and over some rock cakes and a third cup of over-steeped black tea he came out to Hagrid, who slapped him on the back and said, “Good on yeh, Harry.”

Then he headed to the Burrow. He wanted to let Mrs. Weasley know so that Ginny felt she could talk to her parents without having to hide the truth from them. He was quite certain Ginny would never disclose his secrets to anybody.

Briefly, on the way, he contemplated heading to the offices of the Quibbler and giving them an exclusive. But it would, perhaps, be better to let the news filter through Wizarding Britain in a more organic manner.

Mrs. Weasley hugged him tightly in a way that made Harry want to cry before ushering him into the living room and making up a pot of tea. Harry was likely a little over-caffeinated. Mrs. Weasley took the news with as much kindness and understanding as everyone else had so far, though with more tears. She did her best to tamp down her disappointment and reassured him that he was a part of the family- no matter, before accepting his request to let the other Weasleys know so that he did not have to.

Harry was realizing that perhaps he’d spent so long feeling ashamed about his feelings for absolutely no reason. And he was filled with gratitude for the patchwork of friends that had claimed him as family.

\---


	20. Of Being Ashamed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning: This chapter briefly references themes of homophobia and related sexual assault. In the second scene skip the first long section of dialogue if you are concerned.

Harry appeared before the locked gates to Malfoy Manor and his brow furrowed. He’d really hoped to make it to the front steps, at least. He’d tried the Diagon flat first, but it was empty so he’d rustled up the courage to storm the Manor instead. He waved his wand at the intricate wrought iron to no effect. After a moment, a very tiny house elf popped into existence on the other side of the fence. Harry squinted at it wondering if, perhaps, it was a child elf.

Oscar cooed a greeting from his steadfast position on Harry’s shoulder.

“What can Isley do for sir?”

“Uhm,” Harry said, “I’m here to see Draco. But!” He jumped forward to wrap his hands around the gate posts. “Don’t tell him I’m here. Please! Please just let me come to the front door. He won’t agree to talk to me if he doesn’t _see_ me.”

Isley’s globular eyes narrowed in suspicion. “You is Harry Potter, sir?”

“Yes! Yes, I’m Harry Potter.” He wasn’t sure if that was a recommendation or not.

“I will let you in, Mister Potter sir. Because I know Master Draco doesn’t _mean_ what he is saying about Mister Potter.”

The gates swung open and Isley disappeared. Shaking his hands out to clear the tingling sensation that the heavily enchanted gates had inflicted, Harry began to make his way up the drive. He glanced around briefly, there was no snow on the ground here unlike the thick layer in Scotland, the grass was already rather green. The Quidditch pitch they’d visited must be around the other side of the property. There was just as much land on this side of the Manor. The Malfoys must own about as much twice as much land as Hogwarts sits on. Harry hoped Draco was allowed the freedom to explore as a kid.

Harry settled his gaze on the small amount of ground in front of his feet as he walked, steeling himself for confrontation and running through his script. Up until someone nearby began to shout, “Ah! Ah! Ah! Ahhh,” and Harry promptly tripped over his feet, landing hard on the gravel drive. He looked up to find himself staring at an albino peacock with evil red eyes. He flinched, flinging his arms up in front of his face. The peacock screamed at him once more before meandering across the drive and off into the lawn. Oscar came to Harry’s defense, dive bombing the peacock until it picked up its pace. He circled back to Harry and gave a sympathetic hoot.

“_Bloody ostentatious Malfoys,_” Harry muttered darkly as he picked himself up and gave his robes a good brushing. The robes were solely for Malfoy’s benefit, of course. He’d gone home to change after talking to Molly.

When he finally reached the door, Harry hammered on it with a fist. The peacock had disgruntled him more than he cared to admit. The door was swung open by Draco. Harry caught a glimpse of a sheepish looking Isley tucked behind it

With a purposefully pointed finger, Harry jabbed Draco in the sternum and pronounced, “I need to talk to you.” Draco, looking highly affronted stumbled back a few steps, allowing Harry the space to enter the foyer. He however, quickly recovered and fixed Harry with a glare.

Harry continued, “I am sick of being ash-”

Draco slapped a hand over Harry’s mouth and glanced over his shoulder, towards what Harry was fairly certain was the damned drawing room.

“Not here you arse,” Draco hissed, gripping Harry’s bicep tightly and steering him back outside.

“Well, you’ve been avoiding me,” Harry protested as the door swung shut behind them.

Draco let go of Harry’s arm and stuck his nose in the air. “I most certainly have not been avoiding you, Potter.” His tone was just as icy as Harry had anticipated it would be. It still felt like shit. “Come on, then. We’ll go for a walk in the grounds.”

Harry tagged along behind Draco, following a path that led away from the house and towards a grove of trees. On the way they passed the evil peacock, which put up another racket until Oscar flew its way.

“I thought you wanted to _talk,_ Potter?” Draco prompted.

Harry tapped his wand against his thigh in an attempt to gain back the bluster he’d been filled with on first knocking at the door. Sparks flew out and fizzled amongst the dead leaves that clustered along the path. Harry quickly stamped them out and glanced at Draco with a look of apology. Draco stopped walking and they stood facing one another with tense postures, as though they were standing off in the centre of the path, enclosed by sentinel trees.

“Kindly do not burn my estates down, Potter. Honestly, it’s a miracle that you haven’t blown bits of yourself off seeing as clearly no one taught you basic wand safety.”

“I had everything I wanted to say all prepared you know!” Harry complained. “And you interrupted me and dragged me out here and so here we are, talking about wand safety! Which, for the record, I am well aware of.”

Draco lifted his eyes to the sky as if he wanted to roll his eyes but interacting with Harry was just too tiresome to extend the full amount of energy necessary. Harry felt the spark of frustration that had fueled him earlier return.

“Save the theatrics, Potter. There aren’t any reporters here to slaver over it.”

Harry gaped at Draco. Probably not the most attractive face and likely counter to his ultimate goal, but how could Malfoy be standing here accusing _him_ of theatrics? “Draco! You’re the biggest bloody dramatic prick I’ve ever met!”

“Well,” Draco said, turning back towards to the Manor, “If that’s all, then. I’ve a busy schedule.”

“No!” Harry bellowed. “That is not all, Draco! Turn around and fucking look at me!”

To his immense surprise, Draco did. And, with a strange expression on his face, which Harry suspected was due to the strain of trying to maintain his look of indifference.

“What I was trying to say,” Harry said in a carefully controlled voice, “is that I am sick of being ashamed. I am sick of feeling guilty for all those good people who died when it should have been me. I am sick of feeling shame for being gay. So much fucking shame that I can only _just_ admit it, even to myself. I am sick of hiding my feelings. I am sick of feeling conflicted about how I feel. So I am going to own it, damnit!”

Harry paused a moment to catch his breath, which felt wildly out of his control. His volume had increased erratically throughout his speech. Draco was wavering slightly in the spot he had frozen to when Harry first bellowed at him. His eyes were wide with fear. And maybe, Harry thought, a little bit of hope?

“I am not sorry I kissed you,” Harry continued. “I am sorry about every single second between then and now, though. I’m an idiot.”

“Potter…” Draco said in way that carried a warning.

“I came out to Ginny.” Harry said frankly. “And then we broke up, obviously. And then I came out to Ron and Hermione. And Hagrid. And Mrs. Weasley.” He chuckled and kicked at the leaves before sheepishly meeting Draco’s eyes again, “It seems once I started, I couldn’t stop coming out. It was, er, five hours? Of just, like, confessing how gay I am.”

This startled a laugh out of Draco and Harry gave him a wry smile.

Draco set his face into a strict expression and said, “It is not alright for you to just… experiment with me, Harry.”

Harry swallowed thickly, “_Draco_.”

He took a step towards Harry. Harry grabbed him by the arms and pushed him up against a tree, waiting a second for Draco’s eyes to register and accept his intentions before kissing him.

When they broke for air, Harry kept his hands tightly around Draco’s arms and his forehead resting on Draco’s. He wanted him to feel how very much Harry was _not_ going to freak out and pull away this time.

Draco’s grey eyes studied Harry above a small, nervous smile. Harry was grinning like an idiot. Draco reached to capture Harry’s lips in his own again. It was like flying, Harry decided, kissing Draco.

There was a loud pop and Draco jumped away, smoothing his hair. Isley, apologetic, said “Master Draco, Mistress is looking for you.”

“Ah.” Draco grimaced to Harry, “I actually do have a rather full schedule today, Harry. Catching up on some of the things I’ve been neglecting lately. Mother invited a business partner for dinner.”

“That’s okay,” Harry replied, wishing they had just a little more time. “Come by later, maybe?”

Draco nodded and turned to Isley, “I’ll be along shortly.”

Isley apparated away and Draco walked back to Harry. He picked his hand up, running his thumb across Harry’s knuckles.

“I will come by later. By nine,” Draco promised. “I trust you can see yourself off the grounds.”

“If your devil-peacock doesn’t assault me,” Harry grumbled. Draco raised his brows and pressed a quick kiss to the corner of Harry’s mouth before turning to walk back to the Manor. Harry walked the opposite way, determining with some regret that he ought to clean his flat before Draco came by.

\---

Vigorous cleaning, it turned out, was very helpful for anxiety. Harry arrived home unsure whether he wanted to sing or vomit. He was feeling both delighted with how his visit to Malfoy Manor had turned out and as though he was in way over his depth. So he grabbed some of the underused cleaning supplies that Mrs. Weasley had stocked his flat with and made the place sparkle. He opted for manual scrubbing, rather than using a charm.

When he finished he made himself a large dinner, but ended up lacking an appetite, and after a few bites of chicken, he packed it away, leftovers for another time. As nine o’clock approached, Harry lit the candles around his apartment and pulled out the book Draco had given him for Christmas. They’d been too busy with the Dementor problem for Harry to bother spending any time thinking about his future.

The book was divided up by sections: _Adventurous and Dangerous; Careers in Creativity; Careers that Keep the Wizarding World Going Round; Fits for the Logic-Minded; Jobs for People-People; _and_ Political Pursuits._

He flipped through it at random, hoping to find something enticing. Harry quickly ruled out portraitist and inspirational speaker, as well as ministry leader. By the time a knock sounded on his door he had just about decided perhaps he _would_ just live off his parent’s money after all. He shooed Oscar out the window to go find some mice and leave the two of the alone for the evening before he went to get the door.

“Draco,” he said as he swung the door open, “you _can_ apparate right in, you know.”

Draco shrugged, his face tight. Harry’s anxiety, which had near about faded in lieu of excitement on Draco’s arrival, shot back into his awareness. This wasn’t right. That was not supposed to be the look on Draco’s face when he arrived to Harry’s apartment.

“Harry-” Draco said, he voice carrying an apology.

Harry stepped back from the door, “Come in.”

Wanting nothing more than to kiss Draco again, Harry instead turned away and set the kettle to boil. When he turned back around, Draco was leaning against the breakfast bar, studying Harry with a slight frown.

Harry didn’t say anything. He’d rather wait for what was to come.

It wasn’t until Draco cradled a steaming mug, the breakfast bar still a protective barrier between the two of them, that he spoke. “I- I can’t be what you want. I’m sorry.”

“What does that even mean, Draco?” Harry raked a hand through his hair and pressed his lips tightly together.

“I can’t be _out_. I can’t-”

“Why not?” Harry interrupted.

“Harry,” Draco replied tensely, “I’m glad that coming out went well for you, really. You deserve that. But it _isn’t _like that for everyone. It _wouldn’t_ be like that for me. You are one of _three_ people who know I’m gay. The others are Pansy- because she pretends to be my girlfriend when I need her to, and… Blaise Zabini, because…well. Some of the Death Eaters had guessed though. I’ve been called some truly terrible things. Been casually groped walking down the halls of my own home, never sure if they just wanted to laugh at me or if they were going to try and force me to…” Draco broke off, his jaw clenched tightly.

“Draco,” Harry whispered, sick to the stomach.

“Anyways,” Draco carried on having control of his voice once more. “The world is not kind to people like me. And I have responsibilities. There are expectations for me. I need to rebuild the Malfoy name. I need to _carry on_ the Malfoy line. And I should never have forgotten my responsibilities.”

Harry was frozen to the spot, though he felt as if his body was screaming to go a thousand different directions all at once. “So…”

“You deserve far more than me anyways, Harry.”

It was the earnestness in Draco’s eyes that really got to Harry.

“Are you telling me that you are going to marry a woman?”

“I’ve got an arranged marriage planned with Astoria Greengrass.”

One of Harry’s limbs shot of his control. His toes ached as the cupboard door rattled, having received a fierce kick. Draco winced slightly. Harry wished there was less desperation in his voice, less hurt, when he said, “You kissed me. It wasn’t just me. Not this time. Not last time, either.”

Draco looked down, his hair falling in front of his face. “I know. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have.”

“Shouldn’t have? Shouldn’t have what? Kissed me back? Spent every fucking day with me for months? As if you didn’t realize things between us were…” Harry waved his hand struggling to find a word that fit how _much_ this all was, “changing?”

“I didn’t,” Draco protested, looking helpless in a way that just made Harry more angry. “I didn’t realize. I couldn’t have ever imagined that-”

“You know, Draco, few things would help rebuild the _tarnished_ name of your family better than associating with me.”

With a sad shake of his head, Draco replied, “That’s not true, Harry. You read the Prophet’s article. Regardless, its only part of the problem.”

“So you’re going to marry Astoria- and what?” Harry challenged, staring determinedly at the top of Draco’s sunken head. “You’re going to be miserable your whole life? Living a lie? Struggling to get it up to have a round in bed with her? Or- oh! I know, you’re going to have a series of affairs, right?”

Draco refused to look up to Harry, refused to reply, which only made Harry’s anger more pointed. He struggled to take a deep breath, then two more. He told himself forcibly that tearing into Narcissa Malfoy, with whom Draco had no doubt just finished a dinner laden reminders to toe the Malfoy party line, would likely not be helpful.

After he regained some control, he looked back to Draco who was now watching him cautiously.

“I don’t suppose I need to say it out loud for you to know how I feel?” Harry asked him quietly.

Draco slid his eyes away from Harry, towards the wall covered in smiling photographs of Harry and his friends. Harry could see the sheen of Draco’s unshed tears as he replied, “I think it’s best we not.”

_We_. With that ‘we’ the control Harry had regained fled him again. He _had_ been wanting to ask why Draco bothered to tell him he was gay, if he was intending to suppress it for the rest of his life anyways. Why he had kissed Harry back. Why he had been so upset at the thought Harry might’ve only wanted to experiment with his sexuality.

Instead Harry said coldly, “You’re a coward, Malfoy.”

Draco, jaw clenched, nodded then apparated away.

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :[ Sorry for that rollercoaster. Comments welcome! :) 
> 
> ... If anyone hasn't heard a Peacock before, I really do think they sound like that and it is sort of terrifying.


	21. Part 4; Ch 21 - Anything

Part 4

We were young, dumb, taking our chance  
And making romance and breaking our promises  
Trying to be and failing miserably, but am I too late  
Or hearts to your spades? If I don't suit you  
Then what do you want from me?  
So we're not written in the stars but I'm okay with that  
I'm okay with anything

By midnight, Harry was sat the in Hog’s Head again, gulping back tea that was still a scalding temperature as he waited for Hermione and Ron. Oscar had flown right back into the flat the moment Draco left, as though he’d been hovering around to come to the rescue. Harry sent him out again with a letter for his best friends pleading to see them. He supposed Hermione wouldn’t be too pleased with the prospect, but he also knew the McGonagall would never punish them for being out after hours.

When his two friends slid into the booth on either side of him, they already looked properly sympathetic. He hadn’t even_ said _anything of substance in his owl.

“Harry, mate…” Ron began, trailing off uncertainly.

Hermione remained silent, but she slipped her hand into Harry’s limp one and gave it a gentle squeeze.

“He’s going to have an arranged marriage. To Astoria Greengrass.”

Harry was pretty sure he knew who she was. She had golden blonde hair and was inarguably beautiful. She and Draco would surely produce another stunning Malfoy heir.

Neither Hermione nor Ron looked surprised. This surprised Harry, who perhaps had never felt so blindsided in his entire life - which really said something given his past experiences.

“It’s not uncommon for pureblood families,” Ron explained apologetically when Harry gave them a look of bewilderment.

“But he’s _gay_,” Harry whispered pleadingly.

Hermione and Ron grimaced, two sets of pitying eyes met his. Harry dropped his head down into his arms.

“I went to Malfoy Manor and made this big bloody _confession_ and apology. I wore dress robes. I got attacked by a nutter albino peacock. And he kissed me back. Enthusiastically.” A gentle hand stroked Harry’s hair. “And then he went to have dinner with his mother and came to my apartment a few hours later, and, and just-” Harry couldn’t say ‘_broke my heart’ _out loud. “Worst thing is, I _know_ he feels the same as me. It just isn’t enough, I guess.”

Harry had already decided that he was not going to cry over Draco-Bleeding-Malfoy. But the press of Hermione’s lips to the side of his head nearly undid him. He took several shuddering breaths before looking back up.

“It’s not fair,” Hermione acknowledged.

“Not fair of Malfoy to jerk him around, it’s not!” Ron growled, looking ready to duel the man for Harry.

Hermione asked, “What can we do, Harry?”

“I will fight him,” Ron added instantly.

“No,” Harry shook his head, giving Ron a small, rueful smile. “He’s had some really fucked up experiences, I think. I wouldn’t want to be gay, either, if I were him. I’m… just so fucking confused. I’m so angry with him. And I wish I could’ve protected him. But of course, I did the fucking opposite of that when he was going through all of that. So I’m angry with myself, everyone who ever hurt Draco, and with _him_. And I don’t know if that’s fair or not fair. I don’t know if this means that I’m never going to see him again.” Harry was crying now, and swiped angrily at his face, “And I _don’t_ want to be fucking crying over this.” 

“Harry,” Ron said plainly, “You feel how you feel. And that’s alright.”

“Feelings are messy,” Hermione added gently. “It’s normal to feel confused and have feelings that contradict each other. This has all been quite a lot, and it’s going to take time for the dust to settle and for you to untangle how you feel and what that’s going to mean for you.”

“Yeah,” Harry replied, pushing his glasses up so he could press the heels of his palms into his eyes. “Yeah. Thank you for coming. I just needed to see you, was all. Can we talk about something else, for a while?”

Ron and Hermione easily rambled on about classes and classmates for the next hour. On leaving the pub, Aberforth gave Harry a knowing look, and shook his head as if to acknowledge that he understood what an awful mess Harry had gotten himself into this time round. Harry walked Hermione and Ron to the gates of Hogwarts, then apparated back to his flat. If he had a little hope that Draco might be there, waiting, he quickly pushed it away as he walked past his empty sitting room towards the bathroom to prepare for bed.

\---

After a broken and miserable sleep, Harry woke with first light and headed to Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. George popped his head out from the back room when the random sound generating charm that signalled the front door opening let out a loud burp. He scrutinised Harry with steady eyes before saying cautiously, “Morning, Harry.”

“Please give me something to do,” Harry replied, walking past George to the back room where he dumped his jacket over George’s desk chair.

“Sure thing. I’ve just restocked the shelves out front and was about to count all my extra stock, but you can instead. Then, if you’re really desperate, you can sex the new litter of pygmy puffs for me.”

Without a word, Harry took the lengthy inventory list from George and set to work, allowing the roll of parchment to drag on the ground behind him as he wandered amongst the shelves, looking for the first item on the list: Abnormal Abacuses (which were marketed as the perfect way to send any elderly Arithmancers in your life over the edge). George left Harry to it, going out front to open up the shop and man the till.

Harry had made it all the way to Yowling Yoga-Mats (which complained loudly if anyone so much as stepped on them) when George came back with a steaming mug of tea. He offered it to Harry quietly and waited for him to scrawl a note on the inventory list before he began to speak.

“So mum just dropped by. Had some news for me.”

Grimacing, Harry dropped his eyes away from George and swirled his tea around in the cup.

“You could’ve told me, you know.”

George sounded a little hurt. Harry figured that was fair. Given the amount of time he and George had been spending together since the summer, he probably did deserve to be told by Harry personally.

“I didn’t really tell anyone until yesterday,” Harry said, realizing it sounded like a terrible excuse - he’d been at the shop with George for hours now. He sighed. “I know, sorry.”

“It’s fine, you’re not obligated to tell anyone. But I just hope you know it’s alright.” George offered. “And mum said Ginny seems alright about it, too. She was far more worried about you. I told her you were over, but that it might be best if she just give you a little time rather than smother you with motherly concern.”

Meeting George’s eyes, Harry managed a smile, “Thanks.”

“It’s not just coming out that’s got you walking around like a ghoul, is it?” When Harry shifted his eyes away from him and remained silent George ventured, “it’s Malfoy isn’t it?”

Swearing under his breath and kicking at the floor beneath him Harry replied, “I really wish it weren’t so bloody obvious to everyone.”

George’s voice was coloured with amusement, “Everyone?”

“Hermione figured it out right away, of course. And it only took Ron about half a second more than her. Pretty sure Ginny knew he had something to do with all of this too, but at least had the tact to not call me out on it immediately like all the rest of you.” _Or_, Harry’s stomach squirmed with guilt, _she had been trying to avoid hearing the hurtful fact confirmed._

“Ah,” George bobbed his head up and down. “I actually rather like the bloke nowadays. He’s funny.”

“He’s an arse,” Harry muttered darkly. He ignored the curious expression George held and said, “Thanks for the tea and the-” Harry emphasized his next word sarcastically, but met George’s eyes so he could tell Harry really did mean it underneath it all, “-_approval_, but I’d better get back to work.”

Never mind that Harry only had two items left to check. He’d already decided he’d do best to go through the full list again and confirm his numbers. He might even sex the pygmy puffs, too. Anything to keep his mind occupied.

“Sure, mate,” George slapped him on his back hard enough to send him a step forward. “Thanks for your help. I truly _hate_ doing inventory.”

\---

That evening, Harry did the only thing he could think of- he went back out on patrol. The weather was starting to warm and he arrived at the nearest apparition point to the muggle neighbourhood that had the biggest gap in Ministry support that night with his coat unbuttoned. Pushing away thoughts of Draco, he headed down the walk briskly. A distinct pop of apparition sounded behind him.

Harry whirled around, wand aloft and ready to disarm whoever had the misfortune of startling him. It was Draco. He looked as unsettled as Harry and his lips twisted uncomfortably. They stared at one another for a moment and then Draco apparated right back away.

Wand falling to his side, Harry watched the spot where Draco had been as if he might change his mind and return. Probably they’d just kept missing each other all this last week - since their first unfortunate kiss - while they both went out on patrols alone. After several minutes, when Draco failed to reappear, Harry cursed under his breath and strode to the apparition point.

He reappeared in front of the door to Draco’s flat. Chances were he had returned there, rather than retreating to the Manor. Taking a moment to mentally tamp down the storm that had sprung up in his gut, Harry knocked on the door.

Draco opened it immediately, looking cautious. He didn’t move back to allow Harry into the flat.

“You would do anything for your family,” Harry acknowledged.

He still thought this was sort of bullshit. It was one thing to ‘do anything’ when your family was at risk of being tortured and murdered. It was another to give up your true self because of bigoted traditions and obligations. But it was bullshit Harry could understand, if he tried. He could try.

This seemed to surprise Draco, who studied Harry for a moment before nodding.

“I’m sorry that you’ve gone through what you have, for being gay.”

Draco gave Harry a sad smile and quietly replied, “Thanks.”

“Will you tell me who?” Harry struggled to keep a calm demeanor as he asked the question. While he’d lost most of his anger towards Draco, he couldn’t help but ruminate on Draco’s disclosure. The thought of it made Harry rage.

Shaking his head, Draco said, “Most of them got what they deserved already, Harry.”

Harry chewed on his lip, wanting to argue. Wanting to ensure that anyone who’d ever laid an unwanted hand on Draco was rotting in Azkaban for the rest of their lives. Wanting to pull some strings so that they would get the kiss, never mind that would certainly not be what Draco would want. After a minute, he forced himself to move past it.

“The work on the dementor problem,” Harry said, “_our_ work. It’s important.”

In the end, though, it really came down to Harry not wanting to lose Draco’s presence in his life, in whatever capacity he could have it. And if Draco needed the pretence of their work in order to continue to spend time with Harry, well, Harry could live with that.

“I thought… that you wanted nothing to do with me any longer,” Draco answered after a weighty pause.

Harry wanted to growl in frustration. “We’re friends, right?”

With a slow nod, Draco stepped back to allow Harry into the flat. “Friends. Want some tea?”

“Always,” Harry favoured Draco with a small smile.

When he tried to think on it, Harry couldn’t tell when it became important for him to be the one that Draco spent his time with. The one that Draco went to when he was frustrated, or lonely. When it became important that Harry be the one to bring joy into Draco’s life. It had probably happened a lot earlier than Harry was willing to admit. But so it was.

They fell right back into their regular pattern. They didn’t speak at all about their feelings, their fight, or the as-of-yet unannounced engagement to Astoria Greengrass (Harry had begun to order the daily prophet so he could keep an obsessive eye on the society pages). A part of Harry figured there was something a little unhealthy about it. He could practically hear Hermione’s voice in his head, giving him unwanted advice if he let his eyes linger on Draco’s figure, bent over a book, for a little too long. Thing was, he just couldn’t bring himself to care.

\---


	22. Working it Out

Harry’s heart dropped as he read the letter. Which was horrifically selfish of him, really. The letter was good news. Great news.

Draco apparated just inside his door and Harry folded the letter and tucked it under a book. Desperately he wished that he’d had more time to decide what he wanted to do about it before he had to see Draco. It was probably obvious that he was upset.

“Harry? What’s wrong?” A little furrow marked Draco’s brow.

Definitely obvious that he was upset, then.

Harry took a deep breath and pulled himself together. “Nothing’s wrong,” he replied. “Actually, this letter’s from Kingsley.” Harry pulled it back out from under his book and offered it to Draco, sinking back into the couch once he’d taken it before continuing, “Good news. They’ve figured out how to force the Dementors all back to Azkaban. They did it last evening, I guess. Seems London’s free of them now.”

“Oh,” Draco said, grinning. “Well that _is_ good news, then.”

Forcibly ignoring the pang in his chest Harry added, “And they’ve reallocated a Ministry building in Wales as a new prison. They’re in the process of setting it up properly, but it should be ready for the prisoners to be transferred in a month or so.”

“_Good_,” Draco said fiercely, scanning over the letter himself.

“Yeah…”

Harry watched Draco and caught the moment he realized what Harry had been dreading. His eyes widened and he began to chew on his lip, letting the hand clutching the letter drop down to swing at his side, crumpling up the paper. He moved closer and hesitated for a moment before sitting next to Harry on the couch.

“So does this mean that we’re done?” he asked quietly.

Shrugging, Harry answered, “If that’s what you’d like, then yeah. Guess so.”

“_No_!” Draco exclaimed. He looked a bit startled at the intensity of his own response and cleared his throat before continuing. “No, I mean, we already talked about this haven’t we? At the beginning? The Dementors will keep leaving Azkaban if there’s no prisoners. No matter how many times they repeat the spells to draw them back there- they’ll keep leaving. They’re too dangerous. We need to finish this.” His anxious eyes searched Harry’s. “Don’t you agree?”

“Yeah,” Harry smiled weakly, relief trickling through him. “Yeah, I do. Wasn’t sure you would.”

“Good then,” Draco said crisply. “We’ll just carry on how we have been then, shall we? Research and patrols and all. Patrols just in case any escape and make their way back to London, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Harry was outright beaming now.

Draco’s expression of determination softened as he met Harry’s eyes. His tongue swept across his bottom lip and for a moment the look he fixed Harry with was damned near yearning. Harry began to drift towards him, as if he were being gently pulled along a thread connecting them both. Abruptly Draco hopped up from the couch and headed to the breakfast bar, pulling notes out of his shoulder bag.

“Shall we get started then?”

“Mhm,” Harry replied, lips pressed tight.

What right did Draco have to look at him like _that_? He was the one who’d made his choice. But Harry, if he were honest with himself, had made his too. He’d take what he could get.

\---

As their afternoon kettle began to boil, Harry pulled a battered black cloth-bound notebook towards him across Draco’s granite countertop.

“You haven’t shown me these notes,” he remarked idly, flipping the book open before he noticed Draco jump up from his seat at the table.

“Nope, not notes! Don’t-” Draco managed a moment too late.

“Wow.” Harry studied the drawing on the first page. “This is horrific. By which I mean excellent, obviously.”

A dementor filled the thick page of the sketch-pad. It was disturbingly realistic. A skeletal hand reached as if could extend right off the page. There was a hint of what its gaping mouth might look like under its hood. Somehow Draco had even managed to capture the ethereal way the creatures’ robes constantly floated around their figures.

Harry glanced up to meet Draco’s eyes. He was blushing. It seemed ridiculous to Harry that with every new thing he learnt about Draco he wanted to uncover more. Each discovery made him love Draco more.

“I didn’t know you were an artist,” Harry’s tone made it clear he was impressed.

Draco scoffed, “I am not an artist. I just draw sometimes.”

When Harry looked at him for permission, Draco waved a sardonic hand towards the book. Harry flipped to the next page, revealing a portrait of Severus Snape. As with the dementor, Draco had managed to capture the realness of his portrait. The furrow of the professor’s brow. The way he used his hair as a curtain. The quirk of his lips in those rare moments when he was pleased with something. How deep the dark wells of his eyes went.

“I heard what you said about him,” Draco ventured. “That night.”

“Oh,” Harry ruffled his hair. He remembered Draco huddled in a corner of the Hall, tucked between his parents, all their aristocratic sheen worn off. “That was… Yeah. I was there when he died. I suppose you’d know that, from the news coverage.”

“Yeah,” Draco replied softly. The kettle was whistling violently and he went to take over the preparations Harry had been distracted from.

“He gave me his memories. It was pretty mad, seeing them. He and my mum had been friends since before Hogwarts. He was the first one to recognize her magic for what it was. To explain it to her… I’d only ever seen photographs of her in her late teens. And Snape… Well he wasn’t exactly the sort that was easy to imagine as a kid, was he?”

With a small smile, Draco shook his head and pushed Harry’s tea towards him.

Harry returned his focus to the drawing. “He called my mum a mudblood, when they were teenagers. That was sort of the end of it, I think. He slept outside the Gryffindor common room and begged for forgiveness, but I guess he was already mixed up with-”

“My father,” Draco said plainly.

“Yeah. And he was the one who heard that prophecy. He’d brought it to Voldemort. And _then_ he realized it would apply to my mum. To me. So he went to Dumbledore. And all that time… All that fucking time he’d been trying to look out for me. He was a right git about most of it but... I don’t know. I don’t have the foggiest fucking clue how I feel about any of it to be honest. He was awful to me. My dad and Sirius were awful to him. He was… whatever he was to my mum.”

Harry shrugged and sought out Draco’s unwavering grey eyes.

Draco shrugged in return. “People are complicated.”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever been as scared in my whole life as I was when you said, ‘_the true master of the Elder Wand was Draco Malfoy_.’ I grew up hearing that story, dreaming of that sort of power. No fucking wonder Severus was trying so hard to keep me out of it.”

“To be fair, I don’t think he knew that part, either. I think he just didn’t want you to have to kill anyone.”

“Fuck, me either.”

“We were all just pawns, in a lot of ways.” Harry took a deep gulp of his tea, ignoring that it was not nearly steeped enough and still too hot. “It could’ve meant Neville, the prophecy.”

Draco’s eyes widened. “_Harry_,” his whisper was laden with sympathy and he reached to hold Harry’s hand where it rested near his tea cup.

Harry closed his eyes and allowed himself a moment of comfort before tugging his hand from Draco’s and heading for the piles of notes laid out across the dining table.

“Let’s get back to work, yeah?”

\---

March came, with its load of rain. Draco apparated into Harry’s flat at the crack of dawn one morning. He dripped onto the floor, evidence that he had been out in the weather rather than having simply apparated from one building to another. Harry stumbled out of his bedroom in response to Draco’s impatient call and gave him a quizzical look.

Brandishing a small, clothbound book at Harry, Draco said, “I’ve been pacing round the block waiting for a reasonable time to wake you.”

Harry glanced at the clock on his living room wall. Half six. “This is reasonable? On a bloody Saturday?”

“Better than three, which was when I got my hands on this book.” Draco was practically vibrating with excitement. “Rutherford’s been in America. With the time difference, you know. He came back and owled me as soon as he returned, he knew I didn’t want to wait at all.”

“This is the book you mentioned ages ago?” The question was half-hearted, Harry had already come to the realization that this must be the case. Instead of listening to the response, he pulled his wand out of the pocket of his pajama pants and cast a spell to dry Draco off. Then he put the kettle on. “I don’t want to talk about it until I’ve brushed my teeth, and had tea and breakfast.”

At this, Draco growled lowly, but he threw his jacket on the couch and sat on one of the breakfast bar’s stools, opening the book to read silently to himself. As Harry fried up some eggs and hash, Draco muttered to himself, writing notes. How Harry had managed to fall in love with a snarky, male version of Hermione baffled him.

He slid a full plate towards Draco and then settled onto the seat next to him. Draco began to eat without taking his eyes off the book. When their plates were cleared, Harry put them in the sink and waited for Draco to begin.

Draco took another few minutes before looking up to Harry. “We going to need help.”

Harry raised his brows, “yeah?”

With a feverish nod, Draco said, “Yes. Granger and Weasley. Maybe others, too.”

“I’m sure that can be arranged. Malfoy, do you have any intention of actually explaining things to me?”

Draco sighed then offered the book to Harry. “It’s love magic.”

Love magic. It made a lot of sense, really. Dementors being sort of anti-joy, anti-love, creatures of despair. What else brings comfort, joy and hope in even the darkest of times? Harry read over the paragraphs that Draco indicated and then met Draco’s eyes. They held a quiet understanding that the feelings they had for one another would be part of the spell Draco planned to attempt.

“It would be stronger if it weren’t just us,” Draco said softly. “The more people, the better. And I would like to hear Granger’s thoughts on it. Just confirm that she thinks it would work, too. It’s fairly obscure magic.”

Harry sent poor Oscar out into the deluge with a letter for Hermione and Ron. By noon they sat around a table in the back corner of the Hog’s Head. Draco had pulled his cloak tighter around him on entering the pub; Aberforth eyed him with interest.

Hermione sat quietly while she listened to Draco’s explanation, and read over the relevant pages several times. In the meantime Ron had a full, silent conversation with Harry that was based entirely on widening his eyes to a ridiculous width. Mostly, Harry replied with small nods. Yes, Draco was insane in the same ways Hermione was. Yes, Harry and Draco were still toiling along on this nutter project despite the unpleasant events of February. A shrug communicated that no, Harry was not alone in his feelings for their former rival when both Hermione and Ron turned to Harry with raised brows after Draco commented that if they _had_ to, he and Harry could manage it on their own, but it would really be better if they didn’t.

“It will work.” Hermione confirmed eventually. “But we ought to strengthen it as much as possible to ensure success. We might have quite a disaster on our hands if we didn’t have enough power behind it.”

“I knew it,” Draco grinned at her. “So you’ll help us?”

“Of course. But you also need to layer the _types_ of love. Not just the numbers.” Hermione’s voice reached an excited pitch. She waved her hand between her and Ron, but shot Malfoy a meaningful look as she said, “We’ve got romantic love. And friendship, too. But bringing in more friends would be helpful, I think. And familial love- siblings, parents. We need to speak to the rest of the Weasleys. Patriotic love, you know passion for the community, for the betterment of our society, would also be a benefit. Kingsley. Anyone else you can think of, Harry?”

“Diggle?” Harry shrugged. Diggle was quite probably the most enthusiastic Ministry employee, did that translate to patriotism?

“Percy would cover family and patriotism, the git,” Ron added fondly.

Draco tensed next to Harry. Not one to miss cues, Hermione gave him a firm look and said, “We need the Ministry, Malfoy. We have to do this _at_ Azkaban.”

“I know,” Draco replied with a snarky tone before sighing apologetically and looking away. “I just- there’s not much in the way of good faith between the Ministry and myself.”

Hermione nodded before delving into an action plan. “Right. Harry you’ll need to set up a meeting between all of us and Kingsley to begin to discuss this. They will need to remove the prisoners from the island, but not until just before we are ready, in case they put up resistance. Harry, you told me there haven’t been any dementors in London recently?”

Shaking his head, Harry answered, “Kingsley wrote to let me know they’ve done some sort of summoning to bring them back to Azkaban?”

“An occult summoning charm,” Draco confirmed.

Hermione leaned back in her seat, looking impressed. “I cannot wait to hear about how they’ve managed that. Whoever is involved in that work will need to be with us, they can perform the spell to ensure that there are no stragglers left behind on mainland when we enact the spells.

Ron and I will reach out to the rest of the Weasleys. And how do you feel about bringing Neville and Luna in, if they’re interested?”

Harry turned to Draco for guidance. Draco nodded and said, “Pansy too, if you’re alright with it. I… don’t want to be the weak link in the chain.”

Harry frowned and squeezed Draco’s wrist, where it rested on the table. Ron sputtered rudely on his butterbeer.

“Sure, Parkinson can join,” Hermione said in a business-like tone. “You go talk to her now. We need to catch up with Harry for a bit.”

Draco looked as though he’d been sentenced to death with Hermione’s brisk command. He slid out of his seat and, without making eye contact, nodded in Harry’s direction. “I’ll see you later then, Harry. Granger, Weasley. Thank you.”

Harry watched as Draco left the pub, trying to delay meeting Hermione’s eyes. When he finally turned back to her she was watching him with just as much knowing empathy as he had expected. Without exchanging a word all of Harry’s imaginings regarding how she would feel about his situation with Draco were confirmed.

“He broke your heart, Harry,” she said gently.

Harry shrugged, “’S’not so bad.”

“He wants to perform _love_ magic with you.”

“Not just us.”

“Bloody hell,” Ron scoffed.

Irritation sparked in Harry. These two were always acting like they had it all together. Since the war finished they’d been acting as though they were Harry’s parents, needing to guide him through his troubled adolescence. Actually - they’d _always_ acted like that.

“Don’t worry about me,” Harry snapped. “Thanks for your help. I’ll let you know about an appointment with the Ministry. And don’t worry - I won’t make it for a school day.”

He pushed himself out of his seat, and throwing some sickles down, left the pub.

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, comments welcome!


	23. Civic Duties

Harry wished his mouth hadn’t fallen open a little when Draco arrived in his flat. 

“I wanted to present myself in a manner that shows I am no longer ridden with prejudice,” Draco explained, a tense note in his voice. “But also, I could hardly walk into the _Ministry of Magic_ without proper robes.”

Draco’s simple black dress robes hung open, revealing a well-tailored dark grey muggle suit beneath them. It wasn’t as though Harry didn’t see him wearing muggle business wear pretty much every day, but…

“You look good,” Harry noted. “Where is that suit from?”

“It’s bespoke.”

Approaching Draco, Harry ran the lapel between his fingers. “How much did it cost?”

“I paid on a credit card,” Draco sniffed aristocratically. “I didn’t calculate the conversion in my head. I don’t quite know. Two thousand galleons or so.”

Earlier, Harry’s mouth had dropped because of how unbelievably good Draco looked. Now it gaped open with a combination of shock and disgust. “Malfoy. That’s over _ten thousand pounds_! You know, I grew up wearing saggy hand me downs that made me look as if I tried to sew together the skin of a dead elephant? And you can spend that much money without even thinking about it? Please tell me you didn’t buy that just for meeting Kingsley.”

“No of course not, Potter,” Draco shifted on his feet.

Well, that was a lie. Harry decided not to challenge Draco on it. Over the last months, Harry had seen Draco varying degrees of stressed. He’d definitely been nervous to meet Hermione and Ron the other day. He’d been generally cautious since he and Harry had agreed to keep working together. But Harry had never seen him so anxious. Draco was carrying himself like an antelope- elegant, but on guard for carnivorous lions.

Nibbling on his lip, Harry assessed Draco for a moment before ordering, “Take your hair out of the ponytail.”

“Why?” Draco asked, though he listened to Harry and allowed his hair to brush against his shoulders instead, “so your standard of messiness seems less inappropriate in comparison?”

Harry shrugged. “I just think it might be good to look a _little_ more casual.”

Actually, Harry thought Draco was too reminiscent of his father with the ponytail, regardless of the muggle suit.

Harry had once asked Draco why he’d decided to grow his hair longer. Draco had explained that happy memories of his father were few and far between, but that when he was little Lucius always let Draco play with his hair. “_It’s stupid,”_ Draco had muttered scornfully.

“It’s not,” Harry had insisted. It made a strange sort of sense, actually. Draco had swiftly added that he’d never grow his hair longer than it was now, just barely brushing against his shoulders, because god forbid he look _too_ much like his father.

Though Harry himself was rather fond of Draco’s longer hair, he suspected it wouldn’t be of benefit to Draco’s ultimate goals of reforming himself in the vision of the Ministry to have it styled just the way Lucius would have.

With a pointed glare at Harry’s jeans Draco said, “I think it might be of benefit for _you_ to look a little _less_ casual.”

“These are my nicest jeans,” Harry protested. They were, too. Dark wash and without holes. He’d paired them with a burgundy dress shirt.

Hermione and Ron chose that moment to show up, apparating straight into Harry’s flat and subverting any brewing arguments as Ron nearly knocked Draco off his feet.

“You’re looking spiffy,” Hermione complimented Draco briskly as he regained balance with a look of deep offense. She turned to Harry, “Are we ready then?”

“Yes, let’s go on.”

Oscar hooted dejectedly and it took a few extra minutes, love from Harry’s guests and some fancy biscuits from Draco to coax him into staying in the flat. They apparated to Draco’s flat for the floo as Harry, Hermione and Ron were not expected to use the visitor’s entrance for the Ministry. Hermione linked arms with Draco and Ron with Harry. On landing, Ron immediately looked around at the maps on the wall with their tracking pins and the piles of texts and notes spread over every available surface and whistled lowly.

“Damn. Looks like an Auror’s office in here.”

“Draco would like to be an Auror,” Harry informed them proudly.

Draco carefully extracted his arm from Hermione’s and shot Harry a meaningful look, “Let’s head off shall, we? Harry, perhaps you ought to go first.”

Harry grabbed a pinch of floo powder and flung it into Draco’s stately fireplace, clearing his throat before stepping in and carefully enunciating, “Minister Kingsley’s office.”

“’Lo Janet,” he greeted amicably as he stumbled out of the fireplace in Kingsley’s entry room. “The others will be right along.”

Ron came first, then Hermione. Finally, Draco stepped out with his jaw tight, he nodded politely to Janet before subtly spelling his clothing clean and pressed.

Janet slipped into Kingsley’s office for a moment, then held the door open for them and waved them all in. “I’ll bring some tea back in a mo’.”

When Harry had come to see Kingsley a few days ago, the man had sat defeatedly behind his mahogany desk. The shining wood contrasted the dull pallor of his skin. “Are you really asking me to make plans with a former Death Eater, Harry?” he had asked wearily.

Harry, who understood being weary and beaten, felt quite the opposite when it came to defending Draco, defending his opportunity to repair his life. Draco had told Harry that he felt as though through his efforts to work towards what he had been taught was a good life, he had ruined his chances of ever properly having one. And Draco deserved more than that. So he had responded to Kingsley with a definitive “Yes,” and they’d set today’s meeting.

Today Harry thought Kingsley looked a little less awful. But he must still be worse for the wear, because Hermione, who hadn’t seen the man since August, looked at him with compassion.

“Minister,” she said, “I hope the office hasn’t been too terrible. I admire your work during such a tumultuous time.”

Dark eyes lit with fond amusement, Kingsley replied, “I’m sure you have bountiful ideas for improvement, Miss Granger, but I am trucking along best I can.”

Hermione grinned, “A muggle turn of phrase Minister? My goodness, things must be challenging. I meant the part about admiring you, for the record. I just happen to believe it’s my civic duty to challenge things a little where they perhaps need some challenging.”

“Like right now,” Kingsley noted, surveying the four youth who remained standing in front of his desk. “Sit, would you all?”

They each pulled out a chair, Draco wincing as his scraped loudly. Once he was settled- his robes delicately positioned beneath him as if he were a woman in a ball gown- Draco pulled the small, worn book from an inner pocket and set it on the desk. Then he looked to Hermione to begin. Hermione shook her head with a gentle smile. Harry reached for Draco’s knee and gave it a squeeze.

With a deep breath, Draco began, “Minister, I appreciate that the Wizengamot ruling with regards to myself was generous. I want to emphasize that I do in fact recognize the gravity of my mistakes. What I am going to propose is not with the intention of erasing those mistakes, rather it is because I believe it is something that should be done, if it can be done.”

Janet re-entered the room, hovering a tray of tea and fixings in front of her. Draco picked up a tea, sans milk, and gulped it gratefully.

“I appreciate the candor, Mr. Malfoy,” Kingsley said, dropping several cubes of sugar into his cup. “So what is it you propose?”

“We believe we have discovered a way in which to destroy dementors.”

Both of Kingsley’s brows shot up, creating a ripple of wrinkles across his forehead. “Impossible, the DMLE, Beasts Department _and_ Department of Mysteries have all looked into it.”

“It is possible,” Hermione confirmed softly.

The opinion of the Brightest Witch of her Age held weight. Kingsley put on his interrogation face and turned back to Draco. “How did such an unusual group of young people begin working together to solve an unsolvable problem?”

“I encountered Harry in the middle of a dementor attack, Minister. After that we both noticed there appeared to be concerning numbers of dementor attacks throughout muggle London, and determined together that we wished to address those concerns. I am privileged to have access to an extensive library and we were able to research dementors and possible means to destroy the creatures. Once we’d found a possible solution, we brought in Granger and Weasley to consult with us.”

Harry bounced in his seat, wanting desperately to interrupt. Draco was underselling himself badly. But it was important to Draco for him to gain any respect on his own merits, so he bit his tongue. Kingsley turned to Hermione, who nodded firmly. Then he turned to Harry.

“Draco has been rather brilliant in his research, analyzing records on dementors and different types of magic. He was recently able to track down a rare book that provides evidence that his theory on how to destroy dementors will work.”

In his peripheral vision, Harry could see Draco’s lips turn down slightly at the corners. Harry had thrown in the “rather” to lessen his praise, but apparently it was still too much for Draco’s comfort.

Tapping a finger on his desk, Kingsley looked them all over once more, resting his gaze on Ron at the end of the row.

“I’m just in this for the ride, you know me Kings,” Ron said with a rueful grin. Ron also had a habit of underselling himself; he’d already begun to map out the most strategic casting formations.

“Alright,” Kingsley heaved a sigh. “Tell me about this plan.”

\---

The following evening had Harry and Draco returning to the Hog’s Head, this time meeting not only Ron and Hermione, but also Ginny, Luna, Neville and Pansy. Ginny and Luna had received special permission from the Headmistress to leave school grounds.

When Draco noticed Harry pulling on his best cloak over the dress shirt he’d worn the previous day he cocked a brow and let a smirk sneak across his face.

“Scared, Potter?”

“Of what? Pansy Parkinson? No,” Harry scoffed, fiddling with the clasp to his cloak. “Course not.”

But was he ever. Despite how, back at Hogwarts, they used to refer to Pansy as a dumb slag, Harry was aware that was far from accurate. Pansy was sharp and cutting. She’d spent her adolescence protecting Draco’s secret and honestly, protecting him from fights with Harry. Of course, she had advocated for Harry to be turned over to Voldemort. Harry figured he should probably take more offense to that, but as he’d intended to give himself up all along, it didn’t seem worth a grudge. Ron, on the other hand, was not too keen on the idea.

So Harry and Draco arranged to meet Pansy earlier, allowing for a half hour to ease into it and explain before bringing the others into the mix. They sat together at a large, circular booth towards the back of the pub. When Pansy walked in, heels clicking, a drunk man sitting at the bar wolf whistled. She didn’t so much as glance that way, eyes immediately meeting Harry’s own and narrowing.

“Potter,” she greeted smoothly as she slid into the opposite side of the booth. Draco took her hand and brought it up to his lips with a kiss and a soft smile when she offered it.

“My flower,” he said, voice teasing, “don’t give Potter too difficult a time.”

She grinned wolfishly, “Only because you gave me the courtesy of explaining at least some of this madness to me already.”

This left Harry with an uncomfortable uncertainty about quite how much Pansy knew about the details of his and Draco’s relationship. He quietly pondered this while Draco began to explain the details of their plan which he hadn’t shared earlier in the week and confirming that Pansy was still willing to participate. She was in the middle of agreeing when Harry’s friends walked in. It was a shock to see Pansy greet both Neville and Luna with kisses to the cheek.

With a chuckle at the look on Harry’s face, Neville explained, “Pansy’s one of only a few of us taking the Herbology NEWT. The work’s often a team effort, so we managed to get over some things.”

“I helped Pansy deal with some troublesome wrackspurts,” Luna added dreamily.

“She did,” Pansy met Harry’s eyes somberly.

Meanwhile, Ginny and Draco had been eyeing one another up. Harry realized with dread that the discomfort of this afternoon was never going to end.

“So,” Hermione said with a polite cough. “Shall we get started, then?”

This time, she was willing to take the lead in explaining things, which Draco appeared grateful for. He was flushed after being subjected to Ginny’s keen analysis. Each member of their eclectic group was quick to sign on. It seemed they were all in need of some excitement.

Suddenly feeling sick to his stomach, Harry slipped away from the group and headed out to the street. He gulped in the humid air, wishing it weren’t so foggy.

Harry was grateful that everyone was able to get along as they were. But it really highlighted the absurdity of the bullying, harsh words and violence that had preceded this year. And something about how keen everyone was to put themselves back into danger made Harry uneasy. As though they were so used to fighting that they didn’t know how to live happily in normalcy. As though they – a bunch of barely of age wizards – felt it was _their_ responsibility to do something about it, rather than the Ministry’s. Those were the real reasons Harry had agreed to working with Draco in the first place, after all.

The uneven stone wall of the pub dug into Harry’s back, and he watched the grungy sign wave back and forth in a light breeze as he worked to steady his breathing. He was standing straighter and had just about determined he was ready to head back in when his heart inexplicably dropped to his gut.

They were there. Four of them. Closing in rapidly. Rushing towards him without touching the ground, the fog pushing out around them as if it made way for the primacy of the dementors. He could distantly hear Oscar shrieking. Skeletal hands gripped his shoulders before he thought to shout for help himself. By then, it was too late. He’d lost his voice and began to hear others. Screams of despair and fear.

Somewhere above the pleas that echoed in his mind, Harry heard a determined voice yell something. He blinked to see silver light, the dementor releasing Harry, hissing with displeasure. The creature and its companions flew rapidly away. A patronus in the form of some tall animal Harry wasn’t able to make out, his glasses having clattered to the ground, pursued them. His knees gave out and he slid to the damp cobblestones, resting against the wall.

“Harry! Harry, oh _God_,” Draco’s voice cut through Harry’s haze. He rambled on, “You seemed a bit off, so I just thought I’d come and check and thank Merlin I did because you were about two seconds from being gone. _God_,” he groaned. “Where is my chocolate?”

Draco- looking rather blurry himself- abandoned searching his pockets to stare intently at Harry, holding his face with cold hands, “Harry- you still haven’t said anything! They didn’t-” Draco’s voice broke, seemingly he couldn’t finish the question.

“No,” Harry gasped. “’M okay, Draco.”

Closing his eyes, Draco took a long, trembling breath before letting go of Harry’s face to grasp his arms. “Come on, then. Let’s go inside.”

In the pub, Harry was quickly bundled in cloaks that didn’t belong to him with a mug of hot chocolate gripped tightly in his hands. Aberforth grumbled about how all sanctimony for hardworking business owners had been forgotten during the war, allowing for the vile creatures to think they could do as they please. Ginny rushed back out to the street to retrieve and repair Harry’s glasses for him.

“Blimey,” Ron said. “Well that certainly reinforces the need for this project of yours, doesn’t it Malfoy?”

“I thought there haven’t been any sightings away from Azkaban in weeks? Since they figured out the summoning charm?” Hermione asked, focused on Draco who had been sitting silently next to Harry, with a rather brooding look.

“Yes,” he replied, voice low. “They are definitely targeting you, Harry.”

“We already knew that, didn’t we?” Harry attempted for it to come off flippantly, but suspected he didn’t succeed.

Ginny shrieked, “You did?”

With a shrug, Harry said, “Doesn’t matter. We’re ending it either way.”

Silence gripped them all. Thankfully Ron, despite Hermione’s accusations that he lacked tact, was always right on time with a subject change when things became tense. “We had dinner with Mum and Dad yesterday,” he said. “They’re happy to help. In fact, Mum said that she’s missed doing such complicated charm work. Percy and George are in too. They’ll all be at the meeting with the Minister next Friday.”

“Brilliant,” Hermione said, giving Ron a look to show she didn’t miss his manipulation. “So there’s us, Harry and Malfoy, Pansy, Ginny, Neville, Luna, Molly and Arthur, Georgy and Percy. Then Diggle, probably. And Kingsley. Between us all we have romantic love, familial love and patriotic love. I think we’ll be quite well covered.”

Something occurred to Harry, “Pansy, can you do a patronus?”

Sniffing irritably, she replied, “Luna taught me.”

“Right then.” Harry had had fully enough for one day. “You all best get back or you’ll miss supper. Thanks… for your help.”

They all filtered out, giving Harry hugs, or kisses and assurances that they would _always_ and _of course_ help him. All except for Pansy, who gave him a glare that somehow communicated a strange sort of approval. Harry was grateful when Draco suggested they pick up Indian and head back to Harry’s for a movie, taking the night off from patrols, given that they’d already sent some dementors fleeing that day.

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry its a bit later than I intended, I hope you're all well. Only one more chapter and an epilogue to go! Comments welcome :)


	24. Expecto Patronum et Amor Potentior

Wind battered them. Harry couldn’t keep his hair out of his face, and was jealous that Draco could tie his back. Though his skin did have a sickly tinge to it, so Harry supposed he shouldn’t be too jealous.

“How do muggles travel on boats so much?” Draco moaned, hands tight on the rail.

“Here,” Hermione offered him a small vial, looking nauseous herself. “This’ll help at least a little. I went on a cruise with my family in the Mediterranean once and spent most of it wishing I was dead.”

Ron, completely at home with the ocean air adding a glow to his skin, sniggered at them. Brushing his hair back with agitation, Harry surveyed the small crowd on the boat. Everyone was managing their nerves in their own ways. Ginny and George were having a playful duel towards the boat’s stern. Luna had her face turned up to the wind, with a look of ecstasy. Percy and Kingsley reviewed their written copies of the plan, which Harry thought was a bit overkill. Molly had taken out a knitting project.

The Ministry had planned for the prisoners to be relocated shortly before the team would arrive on the island. The dementors had been told that there were other prisoners headed to the island to replace those that were being moved to an alternate location. Instead, Harry, Draco and the others would disembark, encircle the perimeter of the small island, and begin to cast. Even those members of the Ministry that worked closely with the dementors of Azkaban weren’t sure quite how intelligent the creatures were. But they tended to follow the directions of those who could offer them the most and they certainly understood enough to be upset about the prisoners- their food source- being loaded on to a boat and shuttled away.

Storm clouds began to gather around the island, occluding the view from their boat where it waited a ways out from the island. The wind carried more of a hiss than usual, stinging at Harry’s face. After a moment, the other ship became visible through the dense rain, approaching them. Harry felt a lurch as the boat beneath their feet was magically propelled forward into the storm and towards Azkaban.

Draco slid his hand closer to Harry’s on the slippery wood of the rail. His smallest finger linked through Harry’s and he leaned closer to ask quietly, “Are you ready?”

Continuing to face forwards, Harry flicked his eyes over to Draco’s, “Yes.”

A protective charm covered the deck of the boat, protecting them from the worst of the rain overhead. With each swell of the ocean, though, Harry could feel his emotions slip from his control. More fear. More dread. Less hope. It felt as if he were drowning beneath the black waves that beat on the side of the ship. He pulled his hand from Draco’s and dug in his pocket for a chocolate bar.

“Chocolate time, everyone!” He hollered over the howling wind, giving Draco half the bar before forcing some back himself.

He turned to Draco and studied him seriously. “Draco, listen… I know you know this already and I know it won’t change anything but I have to properly say it before we do this.”

It hadn’t occurred to him until just now, as they approached the island and his more positive emotions were sucked away from him… but what if it wasn’t Draco and his bond to the others that made a weak link but rather _Harry _and Draco because they’d never laid it all out for each other?

He wanted to touch Draco. To run his hand across his cheek, to embrace him tightly. Instead Harry grasped his own hands together in front of him as he said, “Draco, I love you. So make sure you make it off this fucking island safely, okay?”

Draco let his eyes flutter shut for a moment before opening them and gazing at Harry steadily, grey eyes bright in the gloom around them. He slipped his hands into Harry’s, squeezing them tightly. “You too, Harry.”

The boat jarred up against the jagged bank of the island more quickly than Harry expected, disrupting the moment. The island hadn’t been visible until they were right up against it. Draco pulled away from Harry and their vision was pulled immediately upwards. Harry’s neck craned and he realized he wasn’t able to see the top of the fortress, it towered so high above the island.

The ship’s captain- Anders, a gritty man whose job was shuttling wizard prison guards back and forth to Azkaban- levitated a short bridge into place and climbed up, giving everyone a hand across as they left the coverage of the boat and became quickly drenched.

Cold to the bones, Harry cast his patronus straightaway on making land. The stag paced back and forth between their gathering point and the twisting walk up to the fortress entryway, where a group of dementors stirred angrily. Draco and Ron directed their volunteers to their designated casting locations around the island, sending some people East and some West. The first sent off would meet around the South end of the island, at the back of the fortress.

It had taken two lengthy meetings with everyone involved to determine the order in which they should stand for the most effective spellcasting. There were fourteen of them in total who would be casting the charm, with only George, Percy and Ginny able to join them out of the Weasley siblings. Couples- meaning Molly and Arthur, Ron and Hermione, and Neville and Luna were to be positioned approximately across from one another forming a triangle. Everyone else was positioned based on strength of relationship, with the intention of creating a sort of chain reaction.

One of every two people cast a patronus to protect them as they made their way around the island. George and Percy headed off first- with Percy’s owl leading the way. Molly and Arthur started off around the West side of the island to meet their sons, who had gone East. Ginny and Luna, followed by Neville and then Pansy headed West as well. To the East after Percy went Diggle, Kingsley, Hermione and Ron.

Harry’s heartbeat felt slowed, but more intense than usual. He could acutely feel each beat as Draco walked a few metres to his right. Glancing to his left, Harry caught a reassuring smile from Ron, and if he looked hard enough into the mist on his right, Harry could see Pansy looking at Draco with a smug confidence.

“Right, we’re in place,” Kingsley’s voice boomed around the island, amplified by a _sonorous _and echoing eerily between the crags of the fortress. Over the course of their preparation, the dementors had begun to swirl around the base of the fortress in distress. They’d kept their distance from the wizards, none of whose patronuses had faltered yet.

With a grim cough, Kristopher, the Ministry Unspeakable who was to complete the occult summoning charm stepped forward. He strode past the loose circle made by Harry and the others and stopped halfway up the muddy path to the fortress’s large doorway. For a moment he stood, a dark silhouette framed by the large cast iron door, which was stamped with a pattern of bones and ghastly faces. The wizard, just like Captain Anders, was familiar with the island and seemed less affected by his proximity to dozens of dementors than Harry figured was likely to be healthy.

Kristopher tilted his head back, long, jet black hair flapping in the wind like a dark flag and spread his arms out to either side, palms turned up to the clouds. Without the use of a wand, he began to chant an incantation. Moments before black and silver crackles of magic became visible in the air around the man Harry could feel it coming, every hair on his body standing to attention. He gulped before casting a _sonorous _on himself, preparing for Kristopher’s signal.

Seven dementors appeared in front of Kristopher, limbs reaching and robes fluttering towards the man as though they had been forcibly sucked though an invisible portal. It took the creatures a moment to orient themselves, and when they did, they hissed and rushed towards the wizard that had summoned them; Kristopher stood his ground. Harry flicked his wand, directing his stag to intervene. Kristopher hurried back to stand behind Harry, giving him a nod of confirmation. Keeping his eye on the dementors that his stag was pushing back towards the fortress, Harry, voice amplified, commanded, “On three, then. One, Two…”

Everyone discontinued their previous patronuses, leaving them vulnerable for a horrifying heartbeat. The dementors, who’d been pressed against the walls of the fortress like cornered beasts, sped forwards, ready to attack.

“_Three!_” Harry bellowed. “_Expecto Patronum et Amor Potentior!”_

Harry hadn’t risked a glance at Draco during Kristopher’s summoning, but now, as his stag burst forth and he heard Draco echo his words, he looked over. Draco, a vision of righteous fury, looked like an avenging angel. In front of him reared not a leopard but a stag. For a brief moment Draco met his eyes, before they both turned attention back to their spell, Harry beaming. He didn’t have time to consider what Draco’s change of patronus meant, but he figured it could only be a good thing.

“_Vade!_” Harry commanded his patronus, which pivoted on his rear hoofs and cantered towards Draco, Draco’s own stag heading towards Pansy while Ron’s terrier darted towards Harry. The glowing creatures began to race around the island, their edges blurring as a barrier of light grew upwards between their casters and the dementors. The silver light reached through the dark clouds that loomed overhead until it connected above the fortress, creating a dome illuminating the island with a brilliant, pure light. The dementors scattered around the area within the dome, seemingly confused. A few rushed urgently at the barrier, evaporating into wisps of smoke when they collided with its light.

The patronuses, their forms barely distinguishable from the wall of glowing light, ran in a tighter circle, pulling the light more tightly around the dark creatures trapped within it. The dementors screeched so terribly Harry had to struggle to keep his hands from covering his ears. But he could no longer feel the depressive drag on his emotions that was caused by the dementors. Instead, Harry was exhilarated. Surrounded by people he loved, and who loved him. The dementors had hurt him. They had hurt people he loved. They were creatures born of evil, like no others were. And they were _dying_. Being driven to extinction.

He laughed manically as the protective dome sealed around the fortress of Azkaban. Any dementors that remained outside of the building had been destroyed, but many of them had fled into its safety. The fortress throbbed with light, as though the patronuses’ glowing power had pushed its way into every despicable crevice of the place. With a tremendous flash that momentarily blinded the wizards and witches watching, the light ended and with it, the remaining dementors.

Without the patronuses or dementors, the island felt empty. Not quite neutral, but certainly not how it had been. Everyone stood, spread around the island, in complete silence. After a few dazed moments, Harry turned to find Draco.

Draco ran to him, throwing his arms forcefully around Harry’s neck. He pulled away before Harry could even hug him back. A pang of disappointment jabbed at Harry. It’s not as though this would have changed anything. Harry knew that.

But then Draco had his hands on Harry’s cheeks, tears swimming in his eyes. “Harry,” he said struggling to keep his voice even, “I have done so damned much in the name of what my family wants. For the expectations of others. I’m not willing to give up any more of what I want. And every _forsaken fibre_ of my being wants you.”

Harry practically launched himself forward to kiss Draco, whose hands were left behind to hover in the air for a moment, before they wrapped into Harry’s tangle of hair. They ignored their friends as Ron whistled and Pansy cat called.

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue to come :) I hope you've enjoyed and would be delighted to read any comments!


	25. Epilogue

“How do I look?” Draco asked, a frantic edge to his voice as he poked his head out of the tiny bathroom in Harry’s flat.

He looked spectacular. He was dressed in the muggle suit he’d worn for their first meeting with the Minister. Now, though, he paired it with pale blue robes and a matching silk cravat. He’d left his hair loose.

Harry cupped his face in one hand and kissed him deeply. The thrill of that might never fade, he thought giddily.

“You look amazing,” Harry assured. “You don’t have to do this tonight, though. Not if you’re not ready.”

Puffing up his chest, Draco replied. “Of course I do, I have an award to graciously receive.”

Harry rolled his eyes fondly. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

“Well,” Draco replied eyes sad, “I’ve already come out to my mother and burnt that bridge, might as well let everyone else know.”

Draco had come out to his mother the day after they’d successfully destroyed the dementors. Apparently, she’d quietly told him that she hoped he would reconsider. The following day he had an uncomfortable luncheon with the Greengrasses, where he had expressed his apologies for mysteriously needing to call off the engagement with Astoria. He’d returned home to find the wards to Malfoy Manor closed to him and his belongings in a set of trunks resting on the drive, Isley standing amongst them bawling. When Draco arrived at Harry’s flat with his shrunken trunks he had claimed he was just amazed Narcissa was generous enough to let him keep any of his belongings.

While Harry was delighted to have Draco living with him, he’d been more than a little awkward about transitioning from pining alone to being in an actual relationship. That first night, he’d insisted that Draco take the bed while he sleep on the couch. Right up until Draco had strode into the sitting room in his pajamas, arms crossed and eyes fierce.

“Harry,” he’d said, “we can sleep in the same bed without _sleeping_ together you know!”

Despite the close quarters of Harry’s miniscule flat (the Diagon flat being out of bounds as it was owned by the Malfoy Estate, of course), living together was… brilliant. Harry had quite possibly never been so happy in his life.

“Besides,” Draco now added wryly, looping his hands around the back of Harry’s neck, “I’m rather sick of feeling ashamed about myself, you know?”

“I think I might understand that,” Harry grinned.

He’d given the Quibbler an exclusive interview about his sexuality last week, though had declined to comment on any relationships he may have. When Luna had asked him the question she’d winked hugely and whispered, “_I have to pretend to ask, you know._”

“But if you don’t hurry up and put on those robes I picked out for you I might have to change my mind,” Draco said seriously.

“Prat,” Harry grumbled as Draco pressed a quick kiss to his lips before pulling away.

\---

“Holy _fuck_,” Draco muttered under his breath as they appeared at apparition point for the Anniversary Ball hand in hand. 

Flash bulbs were going off blindingly around them, though Harry could catch glimpses of brightly coloured arms reaching out to grab their attention while witches and wizards shouted his name and question after question. The whole thing was incredibly overwhelming.

“Let go if you want,” Harry hissed. “Now’s your chance.”

Instead, Draco squeezed his hand tighter and Harry had about a second to process the look of determination on Draco’s face before he’d pulled Harry up into a kiss. A brief kiss, mind. Nothing too scandalous. But Harry felt dazed with joy all the same. He knew he was grinning like an idiot. Knew that his stupidly besotted face would be all over every newspaper in the Wizarding World tomorrow.

“You ready to head in?” Draco’s brows were raised teasingly.

“Uh… yeah. Yes. Let’s go.”

They walked past the reporters and photographers out of the apparition hall and into the atrium of the Ministry without a second glance. It was nearly unrecognizable. Curtains of shimmering lilac and gold fabric fluttered from the roof down the walls where it pooled onto the floor. Trees had been placed throughout the hall, fairies fluttering in their foliage. In the centre of the hall, where both versions of the Wizard’s statue had once stood there was a newly revealed white marble monolith, names inscribed up its length. To his right, Harry noticed huge doors spread open, revealing dining tables with cloths that matched the curtains in the atrium. A floor for dancing stretched out between the tables and a small stage that was framed with more trees.

It was beautiful, but suddenly felt _wrong_ to Harry. He turned back to the monolith, scanning the names.

“Harry,” Draco said softly, “come here.”

He pulled Harry towards the back of the hall. Harry followed numbly as Draco dodged people who looked as though they might be headed their way until they slipped into a bathroom. Draco cast a _notice-me-not_ and then double checked that they were alone. Then he turned to Harry and held his shoulders firmly.

“You alright?”

“This is so wrong,” Harry said shaking his head over and over.

“Did I…” Draco frowned worriedly. “Should I not have? I’m never so impulsive. I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me.”

“No!” Harry swatted at Draco. “Idiot. Of course not you. _That _was brilliant. Unexpected, but brilliant.” He bit his lip and glanced towards to the door. “No. It’s all this. It’s awful. I… isn’t it wrong to celebrate?”

Draco tilted his head to the side and hummed in consideration. After a moment he said, “It would be wrong to celebrate and forget. This, I think, is celebrating to remember.”

“To remember?” Harry echoed doubtfully.

“Yes. To remember how dark times were and celebrate the people who stepped up to get us all through that. To celebrate the heroes that made it and the ones who didn’t. To remember to be grateful and to live in a good way.”

“Merlin,” Harry replied eyes wide. “Why didn’t I get you to write that speech I have to give?”

Draco smirked, “I edited it and it’ll be right on the mark.” He pressed a gentle kiss to Harry’s forehead and asked, “Now are you feeling better? People will start to get the wrong impression about what we’re doing in here.”

Feeling his face redden, Harry pushed open the bathroom door and headed for the ballroom.

\---

The speech did seem to hit the mark, Harry thought as he stood clutching Hermione’s hand on one side and Ron’s on the others. Everyone in the audience was smiling through their tears while Kingsley bedecked each of them with their Order of Merlin First Class medallions.

Arthur Weasley’s voice echoed through the ballroom as he shouted proudly, “Those are my kids!” and Harry found himself blinking back tears of his own.

The awards given to Harry, Hermione, and Ron were just the first of many that evening. Hermione had the honour of presenting Kingsley with his own First Class award. Each member of the Order of the Phoenix received one, and all of Hogwarts' longstanding professors. George accepted a post-humous award on behalf of Fred, and made a brief statement that had more than one person in the room fully sobbing.

Finally, Kingsley nodded to Harry, who squeezed Draco’s hand briefly and stood up from his table, heading back to the stage. Draco’s eyes, which had flown wide in surprise were now narrowed in suspicion. Harry hadn’t told him that he’d be speaking again. While Draco knew he’d be receiving a medal tonight, he’d no idea that Harry would be the one to bestow it.

Harry grinned at him, feeling as though his heart might overflow and no longer worried in the slightest about how his words would go over with the crowd in front of him. He took a breath, then began to speak.

“Recovering from a war is a difficult prospect. Our community has experienced hate and pain and so, so much grief. There isn’t a single magical person or being in Britain who hasn’t been affected by the war. The repercussions will ripple forward for generations, as they have from Voldemort’s first rising. And if this first year after the war has taught me anything, it is that there are so many ways in which we need to pull together as a community and work together. That there are many forms of evil that are insidious and sticky. And that our best efforts, our best work, comes from giving one another grace. Giving each other second chances. Being brave enough to reckon with the divisions that have been prescribed to us and deciding that we want to make different choices.”

Eyes fixed firmly on Draco, Harry continued, “With that in mind, I am proud to have the honour to present Draco Malfoy with an Order of Merlin Second Class tonight. Draco Malfoy saved me from a dementor’s kiss this past October. And when he learnt that dementors were terrorizing muggle London, he made the choice to do something about it. He relentlessly pursued his goal of destroying the creatures, spending his days researching the issue, patrolling the streets of London every night, learning how to cast a patronus charm, and bravely challenging the remnants of the hate he’d been taught as a child. He did this not to redeem his name (he didn’t know I was going to give this speech, by the way),” Harry chuckled nervously, “but because it was the right thing to do. 

Draco was looking very pallid in his seat and Harry hoped, perhaps a little late, that Draco wouldn’t be upset. Harry flicked his eyes to Hermione and jerked his head towards the steps up to the stairs. With a gentle smile, Hermione stood and tugged on Draco’s elbow, guiding him up to the stage. Harry watched Draco steadily as he climbed the steps and walked to Harry’s side.

“Because of Draco Malfoy,” Harry said, knowing it was important to emphasize his full name, “we are free of the plague that dementors were to Wizarding - and muggle - society.”

Harry removed the medallion carefully from its velvet box on the podium next to him and slipped it over Draco’s head and while the other man stood stock still in shock, pressed a kiss to his cheek before pulling away. Picking up Draco’s hand and tugging him closer to his side, Harry turned back to the podium. Their friends began clapping vigorously, the remainder of the audience appeared somewhat stunned, however after a few beats picked up the cheering as well.

With a satisfied grin, Harry went on, “while Draco was the driving force and mind behind the efforts to end the dementors, he and I were lucky to have many wonderful friends and family who supported us and who courageously agreed to complete a charm that did what was once believed impossible.”

Harry beamed as he called up each member of their group by name. Hermione and Ron, Molly and Arthur, Ginny, George and Percy, Luna, Neville, Pansy, Kingsley and Diggle. Once they were arrayed across the stage on either side of him and Draco, Harry continued.

“I was once told that love is the strongest magic. This year has shown me the truth of that statement. When we are open to it, love will overcome prejudices, despair, and even, in its way, death.”

A ministry official walked down the line of them, bestowing the other members of their group with a Second Class medallion. The applause built from a rumble into a nearly deafening roar as the occupants of the crowded ballroom began to leap to their feet. A few let out piercing whistles and Harry even caught sight of a wizard who he thought might have been the gentleman in the ladies nightgown from the Quidditch World cup stomping his feet in enthusiasm. Turning to Draco, Harry found him with his head ducked, wiping at his cheek with the hand that wasn’t tightly grasping Harry’s.

Draco looked up to Harry, smiling nervously, “You’ve made me cry in public, Potter. I might just have to kill you.”

But instead, he pulled Harry in by his robes and kissed him.

\---

After Harry’s speech, Luna had jumped in front of the podium and declared, “Let’s dance!”

The elves in charge of the event obviously agreed, because immediately the lights dimmed and a jovial song began to play. The crowd rushed onto the dance floor. Luna hooked her elbows through both Harry’s and Draco’s arms and skipped down the stairs so they could join. Any worries that Harry had about being mobbed with attention (he feared they’d receive a fair bit, both positive and negative) quickly melted away as they were enveloped within the celebrating crowd, just two of many celebrating citizens.

Draco, it turned out, loved to dance and was quite good at it. Harry was terrible at it, but was learning that he sort of loved dancing too. They danced with each other as well as with a rotation of their loved ones. They sought out one another’s gaze throughout the evening. Harry looked over Hermione’s curly hair to see Draco spinning Mrs. Weasley gracefully, with gratitude written all over his face. He locked eyes with Draco over Ginny’s shoulder as Luna held each of Draco’s hands in her own, wiggling their arms in a bizarre fashion between them that didn’t remotely match the beat of the music. Harry’s stomach lurched pleasantly as Draco wiggled his brows at him and the sound of Draco’s laughter, free and light, occluded the music.

After a while, exhausted and parched, the two of them stumbled back to their table and collapsed into the closest chairs. Kingsley approached them, a tall man with sandy hair at his side.

“Harry, Draco, let me introduce you to Head Auror Parker,” Kingsley said in his warm voice. “He’s hoping for a moment of your time.”

Kingsley promptly turned and walked away.

Parker laughed genially, “Pleasure to meet you both.” He glanced towards Kingsley’s retreating form before turning his eyes to Harry. “I don’t think he was brave enough to stick around and hear the answer to this question another time… But Harry, would you like a spot in the next Auror training class? Starts in September.”

Harry glanced towards Draco feeling guilty, Draco’s face gave away nothing.

“Ah,” Harry answered with a grimace. “I think I’ve had enough of that sort of… stuff for a lifetime. Sorry.”

“That’s alright,” Parker said, not sounding bothered in the slightest. “I told Kingsley as much. I’m really here for Draco, anyways.”

The guarded look on Draco’s face fell way to surprise as Parker turned to him.

“Got your NEWTS, boy?”

“No sir,” Draco replied hesitantly. “I’ve done most of the course work for them, but missed the exams given the circumstances of last year and didn’t return to Hogwarts this year.”

“Well,” Parker said firmly, “see if you can challenge them. We can’t very well offer to waive the NEWTS for anyone but Harry Potter,” he shot Harry an apologetic look, “but there’s a spot in the class for you come September if you’d like it. Rumour has it you would.”

Draco lit up, “Absolutely I would. Are you serious?”

“I most certainly am,” Parker assured him. “I’ll have my secretary send you the information on registering then. But make sure you get those NEWTS done passably by end of June.”

“Yes sir!” Draco watched with his mouth slightly agape as Parker walked away. He whipped around to Harry, “Did you tell them that? You know I don’t need you to fight every battle for - ”

Ron thumped into the chair on Draco’s other side, interrupting him, “Nah mate. I told him. Since Harry’s not going to join and Hermione wouldn’t ever even consider it, I need a mate to, you know, copy my assignments off of."

Draco assessed Ron for a long moment before his lips quirked into a wry smile. “I’m sure we can work something out.”

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading this story through! I hope you've enjoyed it, and would love to hear your thoughts!
> 
> I'm posting the first chapter of the sequel if anyone is interested, but likely won't be updating it super regularly just yet, it needs lots of work still.


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